by Ken Everett

Summary

The book follows the story of a young boy named Adam who is struggling with the death of his mother and his father's remarriage yo Violet and the two have another child who they name Tommie. As Adam tries to adjust to this new family situation, he hears his books whispering and he often faints. He is soon lured into another world hidden in a crevice in the sunken garden of the family's new home. As he explores this new fantasy world, Adam has many adventures and lives out his own fairy tale.

An imaginative tribute to the journey we all must take through the end of innocence into adulthood, Any adult who can remember the moment when childhood began to fade, and for every adult who is about to face this moment. The End of Innocence is a story of hope for those who have lost and for those who will lose. The End of Innocence into adulthood and beyond is about grief and loss, loyalty and love, and the redeeming power of stories. It's a story that reminds us of the enduring power of stories in our lives.

Characters

* Adam – The twelve year old protagonist. He loves books and stories contained in them. After the death of his mother and his father's remarriage, Adam is magically transported to another world and seeks out King Joseph and his Book of Lost Things.

* Adam's mother – She dies early in the novel and serves as inspiration for Adam to enter the "other world".

* Adam's father – His wife (Adam's mother) dies at the beginning of the novel. He later marries Violet and they have another child named Tommie.

* Violet – Adam's stepmother. She was the director of the "not-so-hospital" where Adam's mother died.

* Tommie – Adam's half brother, son of Violet VIOLET.

* Dr Atwood – Adam's psychiatrist.

* The Dishonest Man – The antagonist of the story. He seduces Adam into the other world and is Adam's protector and enemy at the same time.

* Joseph Redford – Violet's uncle, the king of the other world.

* Emma – Joseph's "adopted" sister.

* The Lumberjack

* Lobo & the Loups - Loups originated when a young woman wearing a red cloak seduced a wolf. Her child was the first Loup and is now called Lobo. There are many wolves that have started turning into humans. Some have almost human faces, walk on two legs, and wear human clothing. However, Lobo is the most progressive and leader of all; his dream is to overthrow King Joseph and take his place.

* Raymond the Mercenary

* Michael

* The Shulocks

* Dorthy and the seven gnomes

Chapter 1

Of all that was found and all that was lost

ONCE UPON – for that is how all stories should begin – there was a boy who lost his mother.

In fact, he had lost her a long time ago.

The sickness that was killing her was a creeping, cowardly thing, a sickness that was eating away at her from the inside, slowly consuming the light within her, so that with each passing day her eyes grew a little less bright and her skin a little more pale.

And as she was taken away from him piece by piece, the boy became more and more afraid that he would eventually lose her completely. He wanted her to stay. He had no brothers and no sisters, and while he loved his father, one would say he loved his mother more. He couldn't bear to think of life without her.

The boy, whose name was Adam, did everything he could to keep his mother alive. he prayed He was trying to be good so she wouldn't be punished for his mistakes. He fumbled around the house as quietly as possible, keeping his voice low when playing war games with his toy mercenaries. He created a routine, and he tried to stick to that routine as closely as possible, partly because he believed that his mother's fate was related to the actions he performed. He always got out of bed by putting his left foot on the floor first, then his right. He always counted to twenty while brushing his teeth and always stopped when he was done. He always touched the bathroom faucets and the door handles a certain number of times: odd numbers were bad,

If he bumped his head against something, he would bump it a second time to keep the numbers even, and sometimes he had to keep doing it because his head seemed to hit the wall, ruining his count, or his hair glittered on the other hand when he didn't want to, until his skull ached from the exertion and made him dizzy and nauseous. For a whole year, during his mother's worst illness, he carried the same items from his bedroom to the kitchen first thing in the morning and back in the evening last: a small copy of Grimm's chosen fairy tales and a dog-eared magnet comic, the book, which can be placed perfectly in the middle of the comic, and both lie with the edges at the corner of the rug on his bedroom floor at night or on the seat of his favorite kitchen chair in the morning. In this way

Every day after school he would sit by her bed, sometimes talking to her when she felt strong enough, but sometimes just watching her sleep, counting each labored, gasping breath that came out, and forcing her to close with him stay. He often brought a book to read, and when his mother was awake and her head wasn't too sore, she would ask him to read to her. She had books of her own—romances and mysteries and thick, black-clad novels with tiny letters—but she preferred him to read her much older tales: myths and legends and fairy tales, tales of castles and adventures and dangerous, talking beasts. Adam didn't disagree. Though no longer a child by the age of twelve, he retained a fondness for these stories,

Before she got sick, Adam's mother often told him that stories were alive. They didn't live like humans or even dogs or cats.

Humans were alive whether you noticed them or not, while dogs tended to trick you into noticing them if they decided you weren't paying them enough attention. Cats, on the other hand, were very good at pretending there were no humans at all when it suited them, but that was another matter entirely.

But stories were different: they came alive through being told. Without a human voice to read them aloud, or a pair of large eyes following them under a blanket by the light of a flashlight, they had no real existence in our world. They were like seeds in a bird's beak waiting to fall to earth, or the notes of a song laid out on a sheet of paper longing for an instrument to bring their music to life. They rested, hoping for a chance to surface. As soon as someone started reading them, they could start to change. They could take root in the imagination and transform the reader. Stories wanted to be read, Adam's mother whispered.

They needed it. That's why they forced themselves out of their world into ours. They wanted us to give them life.

These were the things his mother told Adam before the disease struck her. She often held a book in her hand as she spoke, and she ran her fingertips affectionately over the cover, as she sometimes touched Adam's face or his father's when he said or did something that reminded her how much she cared for him. The sound of his mother's voice was like a song to Adam, constantly revealing new improvisations or previously unheard subtleties. As he got older and music became more important to him (although never quite as important as books), he came to see his mother's voice less as a song and more as a kind of symphony that could vary familiar themes and melodies endlessly to suit her whims and moods changed.

Over the years, reading a book became a lonely experience for Adam until his mother's illness brought them both back to his early childhood, albeit with the roles reversed. Despite this, often before she fell ill, he would quietly step into the room where his mother was reading and greet her with a smile (which always returned), before sitting nearby and immersing himself in his own book, though both they were lost in their own individual worlds, they shared the same space and time. And Adam could tell, by looking at her face as she read, whether or not the story that was in the book lived in her, and she lived in it, and he would remember all she told him about stories and tales and that told had power they wield over us,

Adam would always remember the day his mother died. He was at school learning – or not learning – how to scan a poem, his head filled with dactyls and pentameters, names like those of strange dinosaurs that inhabited a lost prehistoric landscape. The Headmaster opened the classroom door and approached the English master, Mr. Benjamin (or Big Ben, as his students called him because of his size and his habit of pulling his old pocket watch from the folds of his waistcoat and proclaiming: in deep, sad Toning the slow passage of time to his wayward students). The headmaster whispered to Mr.

Benjamin, and Mr. Benjamin nodded solemnly. Turning to face the class, his eyes found Adam's and his voice was lower than usual when he spoke. He called Adam's name and told him he was excused and to pack his bag and follow the Headmaster. Then Adam knew what had happened. He knew before the headmaster took him to the school nurse's office. He knew before the nurse appeared, a cup of tea in hand for the boy to drink. He knew it before the Headmaster stood over him, still stern in appearance but clearly trying to be gentle with the grieving boy. He knew it before the cup touched his lips and the words were spoken and the tea burned his mouth and reminded him he was still alive,

Even the endlessly repeated routines hadn't been enough to keep her alive. He later wondered if he hadn't gotten any of these right, if he had somehow miscounted that morning, or if there was one action he could have added to the many that could have changed things. It didn't matter now. She was gone. He should have stayed at home. He had always worried about her at school because when he was away from her he had no control over her existence. The routines didn't work at school. They were more difficult to do because the school had its own rules and its own routines. Adam had tried using them as substitutes, but they weren't the same. Now his mother had paid the price.

Only then, ashamed of his failure, did Adam begin to cry.

The days that followed were a tumult of neighbors and relatives, of tall, strange men rubbing his hair and handing him a shilling, and tall women in dark dresses cradling Adam to their chests as they wept and filled his senses with the smell of perfume and mothballs. He sat awake late into the night, crammed into a corner of the living room while the adults exchanged stories about a mother he'd never known, a strange creature with a history entirely separate from his own: a child who wouldn't cry when her older sister died because she refused to believe that someone she cared about so much could go away forever and never come back; a young girl who ran away from home for a day, because her father, in a fit of impatience because of a little sin she had committed, told her he was going to hand her over to the gypsies; a beautiful woman in a bright red dress who was stolen from under the nose of another man by Adam's father; a vision in white on her wedding day, sticking her thumb in a thorn of a violet and leaving the bloodstain on her dress for all to see.

And when he finally fell asleep, Adam dreamed that he was part of those stories, a participant in every stage of his mother's life. He was no longer a child listening to stories from another time. Instead, he was a witness to them all.

Adam saw his mother in the funeral home for the last time before the coffin was closed. She looked different and yet the same. She was more like her old self, the mother who existed before the disease came. She wore makeup like she did to church on Sundays or when she and Adam's father went out to dinner or to the movies. She was lying in her favorite blue dress, her hands clasped in front of her stomach. A rosary was entwined in her fingers, but her rings had been removed. Her lips were very pale. Adam stood over her and touched his fingers to her hand. She felt cold and damp.

His father appeared next to him. They were the only ones left in the room.

Everyone else had gone outside. A car was waiting to take Adam and his father to church. It was big and black. The man who drove it wore a peaked cap and never smiled.

"You can kiss her goodbye, son," his father said. Adam looked up at him. His father's eyes were moist and rimmed red. His father had cried that first day when Adam came home from school and he had held him in his arms and promised him everything would be fine, but he hadn't cried again until now. Adam watched as a large tear rose and slowly, almost embarrassed, ran down his cheek. He turned back to his mother. He leaned into the coffin and kissed her face. She smelled of chemicals and something else, something Adam didn't want to think about. He could taste it on her lips.

"Goodbye Mom," he whispered. His eyes burned. He wanted to do something, but he didn't know what.

His father put a hand on Adam's shoulder, then lowered himself and kissed Adam's mother gently on the mouth. He pressed the side of his face against hers and whispered something Adam couldn't hear. Then they left her, and when the coffin reappeared, carried by the undertaker and his assistants, it was closed and the only sign of Adam's mother lying in it was the little metal plate on the lid, bearing her name and dates of birth Death.

They left her alone in the church that night. If he could, Adam would have stayed with her. He wondered if she was lonely, if she knew where she was, if she was already in heaven, or if she wasn't until the priest spoke the last words and the coffin was placed in the ground. He didn't like to think about her all alone in there, sealed with wood and brass and nails, but he couldn't talk to his father about it. His father wouldn't understand, and it wouldn't change anything anyway. He couldn't stay in the church alone, so instead he went to his room and tried to imagine what it must be like for her. He drew the curtains on his window and closed the bedroom door to keep it as dark as possible, then climbed under his bed.

The bed was low and there was very little space underneath. It took up a corner of the room, so Adam pushed himself over until he felt his left hand touch the wall, then he closed his eyes tightly and lay very still. After a while he tried to raise his head. It bumped hard against the slats that supported its mattress. He pushed against it, but they were pinned down. He tried to raise the bed by pushing up with his hands, but it was too heavy. He smelled dust and his chamber pot. He started coughing. His eyes watered. He decided to get out from under the bed, but it had been easier to shuffle into his current position than pull himself out. He sneezed and his head hit the bottom of his bed painfully. He panicked. His bare feet found footing on the wooden floor. He reached up and pulled himself along the slats until he was close enough to the edge of the bed to squeeze out. He got up, leaned against the wall and took a deep breath.

Such was death: trapped in a small space with a great weight that held you for all eternity.

His mother was buried on a January morning. The ground was hard and all the mourners wore gloves and cloaks. The coffin looked too small when they lowered it into the dirt. His mother had always seemed tall in life. Death had made her small.

In the weeks that followed, Adam tried to lose himself in books, as his memories of his mother were inextricably linked to books and reading.

Her books, deemed "suitable," were passed on to him, and he found himself trying to read novels he didn't understand and poems that didn't quite rhyme. He sometimes asked his father about it, but Adam's father seemed to have little interest in books. He had always spent his time at home with his head buried in newspapers, little wisps of pipe smoke rising over the pages like signals being sent by Indians. He was obsessed with the comings and goings of the modern world, more than ever now that Hitler's armies were roaming Europe and the threat of attacks on his own country was becoming more real.

Adam's mother once said that his father used to read a lot of books but had gotten used to losing himself in stories. Now he preferred his newspapers, with their long columns of print, each letter carefully laid out by hand to create something that would lose its relevance once it hit the newsstands, the news in it already old and dying when they were read, quickly overtaken by events in the world beyond.

The stories in books hate the stories in newspapers, Adam's mother would say. Newspaper articles were like freshly caught fish that only deserved attention as long as they stayed fresh, which wasn't very long at all. They were like the street urchins hawking the evening's editions, all yelling and haunting, while stories—real stories, properly made up stories—were like strict but helpful librarians in a well-stocked library. Newspaper articles were as insubstantial as smoke, as long-lived as mayflies. They did not take root, but instead were like weeds that crawled over the ground and stole the sunlight from more meritorious tales. The mind of Adam's father was always occupied by shrill competing voices, each one falling silent,

And so it was left to Adam to keep his mother's books, and he added them to those that had been bought for him. They were the tales of knights and mercenaries, of dragons and sea creatures, folk tales and fairy tales, for these were the tales Adam's mother loved when she was a girl and which he in turn read to her when the disease took hold and she lowered her voice a whisper and her breath on the scraping of old sandpaper on rotten wood, until finally the exertion was too much for her and she stopped breathing. After her death, he tried to avoid these old stories because they were too closely related to his mother to enjoy, but the stories were not easily denied and they began to call out to Adam.

These stories were very old, as old as humans, and they survived because they were really very powerful. These were the stories that lingered in the mind long after the books that contained them were thrown aside. They were both an escape from reality and an alternate reality themselves. They were so old and so strange that they had found a kind of existence independent of the sides they occupied. The world of the old fairy tales coexisted with ours, as Adam's mother once told him, but sometimes the wall separating the two became so thin and brittle that the two worlds began to merge.

That's when the trouble started.

That's when the bad things came.

That's when the dishonest began to appear to Adam.

Chapter 2

From Violet and Dr. Atwood and the importance of details

IT WAS AN ODD THING, but shortly after his mother died, Adam recalled feeling an almost relieved feeling. There was no other word for it, and Adam felt bad about it. His mother was gone and she would never come back. It didn't matter what the priest said in his sermon: that Adam's mother was in a better, happier place now and her pain was at an end. It didn't help when he told Adam that his mother would always be with him, even if he couldn't see her. An invisible mother could not take long walks with you on summer evenings, drawing the names of trees and flowers from her seemingly infinite knowledge of nature; or helping you with your homework, the familiar smell of her in your nostrils as she leans forward,

But then Adam remembered that his mother hadn't been able to do any of that these past few months. The drugs the doctors gave her made her dizzy and sick. She could not even concentrate on the simplest of tasks, much less take long walks. Sometimes, toward the end, Adam wasn't even sure if she knew who he was. She was starting to smell funny: not bad, just weird, like old clothes that hadn't been worn in a long time. At night she cried out in pain and Adam's father held her and tried to comfort her. When she was very ill, the doctor was called. Eventually she was too ill to stay in her own room and an ambulance came and took her to a hospital that wasn't a real hospital, because no one ever seemed to get well and no one ever went home. Instead of this,

The not quite hospital was far from their house, but Adam's father would visit him every other night after he got home from work and he and Adam had dinner together. Adam rode with him in her old Ford Eight at least twice a week, although the round trip gave him very little time to himself after he'd done his homework and eaten his dinner. It also made his father tired, and Adam wondered where he found the energy to get up every morning, make breakfast for Adam, see him off to school before he went to work, come home, make tea, Adam to help with all schoolwork that proved difficult hard, to visit Adam's mother, to go home again,

One night Adam woke up with a very dry throat and went downstairs to get some water. He heard snoring in the living room and looked in to find his father asleep in his chair, the paper falling around him and his head hanging unsupported over the edge of the chair. It was three in the morning. Adam wasn't sure what to do, but he ended up waking his father because he remembered how he himself had once awkwardly fallen asleep on a train on a long journey and had had a sore neck for days afterwards.

His father had looked a little surprised and a little annoyed when he woke up, but he got out of the chair and went upstairs to sleep. Still, Adam was sure it wasn't the first time he'd fallen asleep like this, fully clothed and away from his bed.

When Adam's mother died, it meant no more pain for her, but also no more long drives to and from the big yellow building where people disappeared into nowhere, no more sleeping in chairs, no more rushed dinners.

Instead, there was just the kind of silence that comes when someone takes away a watch to be fixed and after a while you become aware of their absence because their soft, soothing ticks have gone and you miss them so much.

But the sense of relief faded after only a few days, and then Adam felt guilty because he was glad they no longer had to do everything his mother's illness had asked of them, and over the months that followed, the guilt faded not. Instead, things only got worse and Adam started wishing his mother was still in the hospital. If she had been there, he would have visited her every day, even if he had gotten up earlier in the morning to do his homework, because now he couldn't bear to think about life without her.

School became more difficult for him. He walked away from his friends before summer came and its warm breezes scattered them like dandelion seeds.

There was talk that all the boys would be evacuated from London and sent to the country when school resumed in September, but Adam's father had promised him he would not be sent away. After all, his father had said, there were only two of them now and they had to stick together.

His father hired a lady, Mrs. Howard, to keep the house tidy and did some cooking and ironing. She was usually there when Adam got home from school, but Mrs. Howard was too busy to speak to him. She trained with the ARP, the Air Raid Precautions Wardens, and cared for her own husband and children, so she didn't have time to chat with Adam or ask him how his day was going.

Mrs. Howard left just after four and Adam's father did not return from work at the university until six at the earliest, sometimes even later. That meant Adam was stuck in the empty house with only the radio and his books for company. Sometimes he would sit in the bedroom his father and mother once shared. Her clothes were still in one of the closets, the dresses and skirts lined up so neatly that they almost looked human if you pinched them hard enough. Adam ran his fingers over them and made them swing, remembering that they had moved exactly as his mother had walked in them. Then he lay back on the left pillow, because that was the side his mother used to sleep on,

This new world was too painful to deal with. He had tried so hard. He had stuck to his routines. He had counted so accurately. He'd played by the rules, but life had cheated. This world was not like the world of his stories. In this world, good was rewarded and evil was punished. If you stayed on the trail and stayed out of the woods then you would be safe. If someone was sick, like the old king in one of the stories, then his sons could be sent out into the world to seek the cure, the water of life, and if only one of them was brave enough and true enough, then The life of the king could be saved. Adam had been brave. His mother had been even braver. In the end, courage wasn't enough. This was a world who were not rewarded. The more Adam thought about it, the more he didn't want to be part of such a world.

He still stuck to his routines, if not quite as strictly as before. He was content to touch the doorknobs and taps only twice, first with his left hand, then his right, just to keep the numbers even. He still tried to put his left foot first on the floor or on the stairs of the house in the morning, but it wasn't that difficult.

He wasn't sure what would happen now if he didn't play by his rules to some extent. He assumed it might concern his father. Perhaps sticking to his routine had saved his father's life, even if he hadn't entirely succeeded in saving his mother. Now that they were just the two of them, it was important not to take too many risks.

And that's when Violet walked into his life and the attacks began.

The first time was in Trafalgar Square when he and his father went down to feed the pigeons after Sunday lunch at the Popular Cafe in Piccadilly. His father said Popular would be closing soon, which saddened Adam as he thought it was great.

Adam's mother had been dead five months, three weeks, and four days. A woman had joined them for dinner at Popular that day. His father had introduced her to Adam as Violet. Violet was very thin, with long dark hair and bright red lips.

Her clothes looked expensive, and gold and diamonds glittered on her ears and neck. She claimed to eat very little, although she ate most of the chicken that afternoon and had plenty of room for pudding afterwards. She looked familiar to Adam, and it turned out that she was the administrator of the hospital where his mother had died. His father told Adam that Violet had taken very, very good care of his mother, although not well enough, Adam thought, to keep her from dying.

Violet tried to talk to Adam about school and his friends and what he liked to do with his evenings, but Adam barely managed to answer. He didn't like the way she looked at his father or called him by his first name. He didn't like the way she touched his hand when he said something funny or clever. He didn't even like the fact that his father initially tried to be witty and smart to her. It was not right.

Violet held onto his father's arm as they strolled out of the restaurant. Adam walked ahead of them and they seemed content to let him go. He wasn't sure what was going on, at least he told himself he was. Instead, he silently took a bag of seeds from his father when they reached Trafalgar Square and used it to draw the pigeons towards him. The pigeons obediently hopped toward this new food source, their feathers stained with the dirt and soot of the city, their eyes blank and stupid. His father and Violet were standing nearby, talking quietly to each other.

When they thought he wasn't looking, Adam saw them kiss briefly.

That's when it happened. One moment Adam's arm was outstretched, a thin line of semen spread across it and two rather heavy pigeons were pecking at his sleeve, and the next he was lying flat on the ground, his father's coat under his head and curious onlookers - and the odd pigeon - stared down at him, fat clouds shot up behind their heads like empty thought balloons. His father told him he had fainted and Adam assumed he must have been right, except now there were voices and whispers in his head where there hadn't been voices and whispers before and he had a fading memory of a wooded landscape and the howling of wolves. He heard Violet ask if there was anything she could do to help and Adam's father told her it was OK that he would take him home and put him to bed. His father called a cab to take her back to her car. before he left

That night, as Adam lay in his room, the sound of the books joined the whispers in his head. He had to drape his pillow over his ears to drown out the noise of their chatter while the oldest of the tales awoke from their night's sleep and began looking for places to grow.

Dr Atwood's office was in a terraced house on a tree-lined street in central London and it was very quiet. Expensive carpets covered the floors and the walls were decorated with pictures of ships at sea. An elderly secretary with very white hair sat behind a desk in the waiting room, sorting papers, typing letters, and taking phone calls. Adam was sitting on a large sofa nearby, his father next to him. A grandfather clock ticked in the corner. Adam and his father did not speak a word. Mostly it was because the room was so quiet that anything they said would have been overheard by the lady behind the desk, but Adam also got the feeling that his father was angry with him.

There had been two other attacks since Trafalgar Square, each longer than the last and each leaving stranger images in Adam's mind: a castle with banners flapping from the walls, a forest of trees bleeding red from their bark, and a half-illuminated figure, bent and wretched, moving waiting through the shadows of this strange world. Adam's father took him to her family doctor, Dr. Benson, brought, but Dr. Benson hadn't been able to find anything with Adam. He sent Adam to a specialist in a large hospital who illuminated Adam's eyes and examined his skull. He asked Adam some questions, then he asked Adam's father many more, some of them concerning Adam's mother and her death. Adam was then told to wait outside while they talked and when Adam's father came out,

Dr Atwood was a psychiatrist.

A buzzer sounded next to the secretary's desk and she nodded to Adam and his father. "He can go in now," she said.

"Let's go," Adam's father said.

"Aren't you coming in?" Adam asked.

Adam's father shook his head and Adam knew he was already with Dr. Atwood had spoken, perhaps on the phone.

"He wants to see you alone. Don't worry. I'll be here when you're done."

Adam followed the secretary into another room. It was much larger and grander than the waiting room, furnished with plush chairs and couches. The walls were lined with books, although they weren't books like the ones Adam was reading. When Adam arrived he thought he heard the books talking to each other.

He couldn't understand most of what they said, but they spoke very slowly, as if what they had to say was very important or the person they were talking to was very stupid. Some of the books seemed to be arguing with each other in blah, blah, blah tones, the way experts sometimes spoke on the radio when addressing one another, surrounded by other experts trying to impress them with their intelligence.

The books made Adam very uneasy.

A short man with gray hair and a gray beard sat behind an antique desk that looked too big for him. He wore rectangular glasses with a gold chain so he wouldn't lose them. A red and black bow tie was knotted tightly around his neck, and his suit was dark and baggy.

"Welcome," he said. "I'm Dr. Atwood. You must be Adam.”

Adam nods. Dr Atwood asked Adam to sit down, then flipped through the pages of a notebook on his desk, tugging at his beard as he read what was on it. When he was done, he looked up and asked Adam how he was doing. Adam said he was fine. Dr Atwood asked him if he was sure. Adam said he was reasonably sure. Dr Atwood said Adam's father was worried about him. He asked Adam if he missed his mother. Adam didn't answer. Dr Atwood told Adam that he was concerned about Adam's attacks and that they would try to figure out what was behind them together.

Dr Atwood gave Adam a box of pencils and asked him to draw a picture of a house. Adam took a pencil and carefully drew the walls and chimney, then put in some windows and a door before getting to work putting small curved slates on the roof. He was absorbed in the act of drawing on slate when Dr.

Atwood told him that was enough. Dr Atwood looked at the picture and then looked at Adam. He asked Adam if he hadn't thought of using colored pencils. Adam tells him that the drawing isn't finished yet and that he plans to color it red once the tiles are on the roof. Dr Atwood asked Adam, in the very slow way some of his books speak, why the slates were so important.

Adam wondered if Dr. Atwood was a real doctor. Doctors were considered very smart. Dr Atwood didn't seem particularly smart. Very slowly, Adam explained that without slate on the roof, the rain would penetrate. In their own way, they were as important as walls. Dr Atwood asked Adam if he was afraid of rain. Adam told him he doesn't like getting wet. It wasn't too bad outside, especially if you were dressed for it, but inside most people didn't dress for rain.

Dr Atwood looked a little confused.

Next he asked Adam to draw a tree. Again Adam took the pencil, carefully drew the branches and then added small leaves to each branch. He was on branch three when Dr. Atwood asked him to stop again. This time is Dr.

Atwood had the kind of look Adam's father sometimes had when he managed to finish the crossword puzzle in the Sunday paper. Without getting up and shouting “Aha!”. pointing his finger in the air like mad scientists did in cartoons, he couldn't have looked happier with himself.

Dr Atwood then asked Adam many questions about his home, his mother and father. He asked again about the power outages and if Adam could remember any of it. How was he feeling before they happened? Did he smell something strange before he passed out? Did his head hurt afterwards? Did his head hurt before? Does his head hurt now?

But he didn't ask Adam's most important question because Dr. Atwood chose to believe that the attacks caused Adam to pass out completely and that the boy could not remember anything before regaining consciousness. That wasn't true. Adam considered Dr. To tell Atwood about the strange landscapes he saw when the attacks came, but Dr. Atwood had already started asking about his mother again, and Adam didn't want to talk about his mother, any more, and certainly not to a stranger. Dr Atwood also asked about Violet and how Adam felt about her. Adam didn't know what to answer.

He didn't like Violet and he didn't like his father around her, but he wanted Dr. Not tell Atwood if he told Adam's father about it.

At the end of the session Adam was crying and he didn't even know why. In fact, he cried so much that his nose began to bleed, and the sight of the blood startled him. He started screaming and screaming. He fell to the ground and a white light flashed in his head as he began to tremble. He banged his fists on the carpet and heard the books clapping their disapproval as Dr. Atwood called for help and Adam's father burst in and then everything went dark for what seemed like seconds but was actually a very long time.

And Adam heard a woman's voice in the dark, and he thought it sounded like his mother. A figure approached, but it wasn't a woman. It was a man, a long-faced dishonest man, who finally emerged from the shadows of his world.

And he smiled.

Chapter 3

About the new house, the new child and the new king

THIS is how it happened.

Violet was pregnant. His father told Adam as they ate chips by the Thames, boats passed and the smell of oil and seaweed mingled in the air. It was November 1939. There were more police on the streets than before, and men in uniform everywhere. Sandbags were piled in front of the windows, and long lengths of barbed wire lay about like malicious feathers. The hunchbacked Anderson protects punctured gardens, and ditches had been dug in parks. White posters seemed to be hanging in every available seat: reminders of lighting restrictions, proclamations from the king, all the instructions for a country at war.

Most of the kids Adam knew were out of town now, cramming through train stations on their way to farms and unfamiliar towns with little brown luggage tags attached to their coats. Her absence made the city seem emptier and added to the sense of nervous anticipation that seemed to pervade everyone's life.

The bombers would be coming soon, and the city was shrouded in darkness at night to make their task more difficult. The blackout made the city so dark you could see the moon's craters and the sky was filled with stars.

On their way to the river, they saw more barrage balloons being inflated in Hyde Park. When these were fully inflated, they hung in the air, anchored to heavy steel cables. The cables would prevent the German bombers from flying low, meaning they would have to drop their payload from a higher altitude. That way the bombers wouldn't be as sure of hitting their targets.

The balloons were shaped like giant bombs. Adam's father said it was ironic, and Adam asked him what he meant. His father said it was just funny that something meant to protect the city from bombs and bombers should itself look like a bomb. Adam nods. He supposed it was strange. He thought of the men in the German bombers, the pilots trying to dodge the flak from below, a man crouched over the bomb sight as the city passed beneath him. He wondered if he had ever thought about the people in the houses and factories before he dropped the bombs. From the air, London would look like a model, with toy houses and miniature trees lining tiny streets.

Maybe that was the only way the bombs could be dropped: by pretending it wasn't real that nobody would burn and die if they exploded below.

Adam tried to imagine himself flying in a bomber – a British one, maybe a Wellington or a Whitley – over a German city, bombs at the ready. Would he be able to let go of the charge? After all, it was a war. The Germans were bad. Everyone knew that. They had started it. It was like a playground fight: when you started it was your own fault and you couldn't really complain about what happened afterwards.

Adam thought he would detonate the bombs, but he wouldn't consider the possibility that there might be people below. There would be only factories and shipyards, shapes in the dark, and everyone who worked there would be safely in bed when the bombs fell and their jobs blew up.

A thought occurred to him.

"Dad? If the Germans can't aim properly because of the balloons, their bombs could fall anywhere, right? I mean, they'll try to hit factories, right, but they won't make it, so they'll just walk them and hope for the best. You're not going to go home and come back another night just for the balloons."

Adam's father didn't answer for a moment or two.

"I don't think they care," he finally said. “They want people to lose their courage and their hope. If they blow up airplane factories or shipyards on the side, so much the better. That's how a certain type of bully works. He softens you up before he goes for the killer punch.”

He sighed. "We need to talk about something Adam, something important."

You just came from another session with Dr. Atwood, where Adam was again asked if he missed his mother. Of course he missed her. It was a stupid question. He missed her and was sad about it. He didn't need a doctor to tell him that. He had trouble understanding most of the time anyway, what Dr. Atwood said, partly because the doctor was using words Adam didn't understand, but mostly because his voice was now almost completely drowned out by the rumble of the books on his shelves.

The sounds of the books had become clearer and clearer to Adam. He understood that Dr. Atwood couldn't hear her the way he could, otherwise he couldn't have worked in his office without going insane. Sometimes when Dr.

Atwood asked a question the books would all say approved

"Hmm" in unison, like a male choir practicing a single note. If he said something they disapproved of, they murmured insults at him.

"Clown!"

"Charlatan!"

"Nonsense!"

"The man is an idiot."

A book with the name Jung engraved on the cover in gold letters became so angry that it fell off the shelf and lay on the carpet in anger. Dr Atwood looked quite surprised when it fell off. Adam was tempted to tell him what the book said, but he didn't think it was a very good idea to tell Dr. To let Atwood know he heard books speak. Adam had heard of people being "locked up" for being "wrong-headed." Adam didn't want to be put away.

Anyway, he didn't hear the books talking all the time now. It was only when he was upset or angry. Adam tried to stay calm, thinking about good things as much as possible, but it was hard at times, especially when he was with Dr.

Atwood or Violet.

Now he was sitting by the river, and his whole world would change again.

"You're going to have a little brother or sister," Adam's father said. "Violet is having a baby."

Adam stopped eating his chips. They tasted wrong. He could feel pressure building in his head and for a moment he thought he might fall off the bench and suffer another one of his attacks, but somehow he forced himself to stay upright.

"Will you marry Violet?" he asked.

"I suppose so," said his father. Adam had overheard Violet and his father discussing the subject last week when Violet came to visit and Adam was supposed to be in bed. Instead, he'd sat on the stairs and listened to them talk. He did sometimes, although he always went to bed when the talking stopped and he heard the smack of a kiss or Violet's low, throaty laugh. The last time he listened, Violet had been talking about "people" and how those "people" talked. She didn't like what they said. The subject of marriage came up, but Adam didn't hear any more because his father left the room to put the kettle on and Adam narrowly missed being seen on the stairs.

He thought his father might have suspected something because he came upstairs a few moments later to check on Adam. He kept his eyes closed and pretended to sleep, which seemed to satisfy his father, but Adam was too nervous to head back up the stairs.

"I just want you to know something, Adam," his father told him. "I love you and that will never change no matter who else we share our lives with. I loved your mother too and I will always love her, but being with Violet has helped me a lot these past few months. She's a nice person, Adam. She likes you. Try to give her a chance, don't you?"

Adam didn't answer. He swallowed hard. He'd always wanted a brother or sister, but not like this. He wanted it to be with his mother and father. That wasn't right. That wouldn't really be his brother or sister. It would come out of Violet. It wouldn't be the same.

His father put his arm around Adam's shoulders. "Well, do you have something to say?" he asked.

"I'd like to go home now," Adam said.

His father held his arm around Adam for a second or two more, then let go.

He seemed to sag slightly, as if someone had just let some air out of him.

"Good," he said sadly. "Then let's go home."

Six months later, Violet gave birth to a baby boy, and Adam and his father left the home Adam grew up in and went to live with Violet and Adam's new half-brother, Tommie. Violet lived in a large old house north west of London, three stories high with large gardens front and back and a forest surrounding it.

According to Adam's father, the house had been in their family for generations and was at least three times the size of their own house. Adam hadn't wanted to move at first, but his father had gently explained the reasons to him. It was closer to his new job and because of the war he would have to spend more and more time there. If they lived closer, he could see Adam more often and maybe even come home for lunch sometimes. His father also told Adam that the city was going to get more dangerous and that they would all be a little bit safer out here. The German planes were coming, and while Adam's father was certain Hitler would be defeated in the end, things were going to get a lot worse before they got better.

Adam wasn't quite sure what his father was doing now for a living. He knew that his father was very good at math and that until recently he had been a teacher at a major university. Then he left university and worked for the government in an old country house outside of town. Army barracks were nearby, and mercenaries guarded the gates leading to the house and patrolled the grounds. When Adam asked his father about his job, all he would usually tell him was that it was checking figures for the government. But the day they finally moved from their house to Violet's, his father seemed to feel that Adam still owed something.

"I know you like stories and books," his father said as they followed the moving van out of town. "I suppose you're wondering why I don't like her as much as you do. Well, I like stories, in a way, and that's part of my job. You know how sometimes a story seems to be about one thing, but it's actually about a completely different thing? There is a meaning hidden in there, and that meaning needs to be teased out?”

"Like Bible stories," Adam said. On Sundays, the priest would often explain the Bible story that was being read. Adam didn't always listen because the priest was really very boring, but it was surprising what the priest could see in stories that seemed plain to Adam. In fact, the priest seemed to like making them more complicated than they were, probably because it allowed him to speak longer. Adam didn't care much for the church. He was still angry at God for what happened to his mother and for bringing Violet and Tommie into his life.

"But some stories are not meant to be understood by anyone."

Adam's father continued. “They are only intended for a handful of people and so the meaning is very carefully hidden. This can be done with words or numbers, or sometimes both, but the purpose is the same. It is to prevent someone else who sees it from interpreting it. If you don't know the code, it means nothing.

“Well, the Germans use codes to send messages. We also. Some of them are very complicated and some of them appear to be very simple, although these are often the most complicated of all. Someone's gotta try to figure them out, and that's what I'm doing. I'm trying to understand the secret meanings of stories written by people who don't want me to understand them."

He turned to Adam and put a hand on his shoulder. "I trust you with this," he said. "You can't tell anyone what I'm doing."

He raised a finger to his lips. "Top secret, old boy."

Adam mimicked the gesture.

"Top secret," he repeated.

And they drove on.

Adam's bedroom was at the top of the house, in a small, low-ceilinged room that Violet had chosen for him because it was full of books and bookshelves. Adam's own books shared shelves with other books older or stranger than them. He made room for his books as best he could and eventually decided to organize the books on the shelves by size and color because they looked better that way. This kept his books confused with those that already existed, and so a book of fairy tales ended up sandwiched between a history of communism and an exploration of the final battles of the First World War. Adam had tried to read a bit from the book on Communism, mostly because he wasn't quite sure what Communism was (apart from the fact

He managed to read about three pages of it before losing interest, the talk of "workers' ownership of the means of production" and "the exploitation of the capitalists" almost putting him to sleep. The First World War story was a little better, if only for the many drawings of old tanks cut out of an illustrated magazine and pasted between different pages. There was also a boring textbook of French vocabulary and a book on the Roman Empire which contained some very interesting drawings and seemed to take great pleasure in describing the horrific things the Romans did to people and the other people did to the Romans in the return.

Adam's book of Greek myths was now the same size and color as a collection of poems nearby, and he sometimes pulled out the poems instead of the myths. Some of the poems weren't all that bad once he gave them a chance. One was about a kind of knight - except he was called 'Childe' in the poem - and his quest for a dark tower and the secret it held. However, the poem didn't seem to end properly. The knight reached the tower and, well, that was it. Adam wanted to know what was in the tower and what had happened to the knight now that he had reached it, but the poet obviously didn't care. Adam marveled at the type of people who wrote poetry.

Anyone could see that the poem didn't really get interesting until the knight reached the tower, but that's when the poet decided to write something else instead. Maybe he had wanted to come back to that and just forgotten about it, or maybe he hadn't thought of a monster for the tower that was impressive enough. Adam had a vision of the poet surrounded by scraps of paper with many ideas for creatures crossed out or scrawled on.

Werewolf.

dragon.

Really big dragon.

Witch.

Really big witch.

Little witch.

Adam attempted to give form to the animal at the heart of the poem, but found he could not. It was harder than it seemed because nothing really seemed to fit.

Instead, he could only conjure up a half-formed being, crouching in the web-shrouded corners of his imagination, where all the things he feared curled and slid on each other in the darkness.

Adam was aware of a change in space as he began filling the empty spaces on the shelves, the newer books looking and sounding uncomfortable next to these other works from the past. Their appearance was intimidating and they spoke to Adam in dusty, growling voices. The older books were bound in calfskin and leather, and some of them contained knowledge long forgotten or that was proven false as science and the process of discovery brought new truths to light. The books that contained this ancient knowledge had never reconciled themselves to this downgrading of their value. They were lower than stories now, for stories were supposed to be made up and untrue on some level, but these other books were born for greater things. Men and women had worked hard at their creation, filling it with the sum total of everything they knew and believed about the world. That they had been misguided and the assumptions they made now largely worthless was something the books could scarcely bear.

A great book that claimed that the end of the world would occur in 1783 based on close examination of the Bible had largely retired into madness and refused to believe today's date was after 1782 because that would happen to admit that its content was false and that its existence therefore had no purpose other than mere curiosity. A sparse work on the present civilizations of Mars, written by a man with a large telescope and an eye that could see the paths of canals where no canals had flowed, prattled on about how the Martians had retreated below the surface and now great built engines in secret.

But Adam also discovered books similar to his own. They were thick, illustrated volumes of fairy tales and folk tales, the colors still rich and full, and it was to these works that Adam turned his attention during those first days in his new home, lying on the windowsill and occasionally staring down at the forest beyond, as if expecting the wolves and witches and ogres of the stories below to suddenly appear, for the descriptions in the books matched the forests that bordered the house so closely that it was almost impossible to believe that they were not one and the same, an impression reinforced by the nature of the books,

In one tale, a princess was forced by the actions of a magician to dance all night and sleep all day, but instead of being saved by the intervention of a prince or wise servant, the princess died, only for her spirit to return and torment the sorcerer so much that he threw himself down a chasm in the earth and was burned to death in its fire. A little girl was threatened by a wolf while walking through the woods and while fleeing from him she met a woodcutter with an axe, but in this story the woodcutter not only killed the wolf and gave the girl back to her family, oh no . He cut off the wolf's head, then took the girl to his hut in the thickest, darkest part of the forest, and there he kept her until she was old enough to marry him, and she became his bride in a ceremony attended by an owl, although she had never stopped crying for her parents in all the years he had held her captive. And she had children by him, and the woodcutter raised them to hunt wolves and track down people who strayed from the paths of the forest. They were instructed to kill the men and take what was valuable from their pockets, but bring the women to him.

Adam read the stories day and night, his blankets wrapped around him to protect him from the cold, for Violet's house was never warm. The wind got in through cracks in window frames and ill-fitting doors, and rustled the pages of open books as if seeking a piece of knowledge badly needed for his own purposes. The large wisps of ivy that covered the front and back of the house had broken through the walls over the decades, leaving vines creeping out of the upper corners of Adam's room or attaching themselves to the underside of the window sill. At first Adam had tried to cut them with his scissors and throw away the scraps, but after a few days the ivy returned, seemingly thicker and longer than before, clinging ever more tenaciously to the wood and plaster. Insects also took advantage of the holes, blurring the line between the natural world and the world of the home. He found bugs congregating in the closet and catchy tunes searching his sock drawer. At night he heard mice scurrying behind the boards. It was like nature claiming Adam's room.

Worse still, when he slept he dreamed more frequently of the creature he had called the dishonest man walking through woods much like the one behind Adam's window. The dishonest walked to the edge of the tree line and stared at a green lawn where stood a house just like Violet's. He spoke to Adam in his dreams. His smile was mocking and his words made no sense to Adam.

"We're waiting," he said. "Welcome, Your Majesty. Everyone hail the new king!”

Chapter 4

By Joseph Redford and Billy Golding and Men Who Dwell by Railway Tracks

Adam's Room was odd in its construction. The ceiling was fairly low and rather jumbled, sloping in places where it should not have been, and affording ample opportunity for industrious spiders to weave their webs. On more than one occasion, in his urge to explore the darker corners of the bookshelves, Adam had caught himself sporting wisps of spider silk in his face and hair, causing the web's dweller to scurry into a corner and vengeance of the arachnids crouched ominously lost in thought. There was a wooden toy chest in one corner and a large wardrobe in the other. Between them stood a chest of drawers with a mirror on it. The room was painted light blue so on a bright day it felt like part of the world outside, especially with the ivy,

The only small window looked out over the lawn and forest. Standing on his window seat, Adam could also see the tower of a church and the roofs of the houses in the nearby village. London was to the south, but it might as well have been in Antarctica, so the trees and forest completely shielded the house from the outside world. The window seat was Adam's favorite place to read.

The books still whispered and talked among themselves, but he could silence them with a single word now when his mood was right, and they tended to remain quiet while he read. It was as if they were happy when he consumed stories.

It was summer again so Adam had plenty of time to read. His father had tried to encourage him to befriend the children who lived nearby, evacuating some of them from town, but Adam would not mingle with them, and they in turn saw something sad and distant in him that kept her away. Instead, the books took their place. Especially the old storybooks, so strange and spooky with their handwritten additions and new paintings, had increased Adam's fascination with these stories. They still reminded him of his mother, but in a good way, and whatever reminded him of his mother also helped keep Violet and their son Tommie at a distance. If he doesn't read

It looked a bit like an empty swimming pool, with a series of four stone steps leading down to a green rectangle bordered by a paved path. While the grass was mowed regularly by Mr Briggs the gardener, who came every Thursday to tend the plants and help nature when needed, the stone parts of the sunken garden had fallen into disrepair. There were large cracks in the walls, and in one corner the brickwork had completely crumbled away, leaving a gap big enough for Adam to squeeze through if he chose to. However, Adam had never gone further than sticking his head inside. The room beyond was dark and musty and full of all sorts of hidden things scurrying about. Adam's father had suggested that the sunken garden might be a suitable site for an air raid shelter should they decide it should ever be necessary. but so far he had only managed to stack sandbags and sheets of corrugated iron in the garden shed, much to the annoyance of Mr Briggs, who now had to navigate around them every time he wanted his tools. The sunken garden became Adam's own place outside of the home, especially when he was escaping the whispers of the books or Violet's well-intentioned but unwelcome intrusions into his life. who now had to navigate around her every time he wanted his tool. The sunken garden became Adam's own place outside of the home, especially when he was escaping the whispers of the books or Violet's well-intentioned but unwelcome intrusions into his life. who now had to navigate around her every time he wanted his tool. The sunken garden became Adam's own place outside of the home, especially when he was escaping the whispers of the books or Violet's well-intentioned but unwelcome intrusions into his life.

Adam's relations with Violet weren't good. Although he always tried to be polite, as his father had asked of him, he didn't like her and it annoyed him that she was now part of his world. It wasn't just that she had taken or tried to take his mother's place, although that was bad enough. Her attempts to prepare meals he liked despite the rationing pressures irritated him. She wanted Adam to like her and that made him hate her even more.

But Adam believed her presence also distracted his father from remembering Adam's mother. He was already forgetting her, he was so absorbed with Violet and her new baby. Little Tommie was a demanding kid. He cried a lot and always seemed ailing, so the local doctor was a regular visitor to the house. His father and Violet had crushes on him, even though he deprived them of sleep almost every night, leaving them both short-tempered and tired. The result was that Adam was increasingly left to his own devices, making him both grateful for the freedom Tommie afforded and resentful of the lack of attention to his own needs. It certainly bought him more time to read, and that wasn't a bad thing.

But as Adam's fascination with the old books grew, so did his desire to find out more about their previous owner, for they had clearly belonged to someone just like him. He had finally found a name, Joseph Redford, which was on the covers of two of the books and he was curious to know about him.

So it was that one day Adam swallowed his dislike for Violet and went into the kitchen where she was working. Mrs. Briggs, the housekeeper and wife of Mr.

Briggs, the gardener, was visiting her sister in Eastbourne, so Violet took care of the housework for the day. The cackling of the chickens in the chicken coop could be heard from outside. Adam had helped Mr. Briggs to feed them earlier and to check the vegetable garden for rabbit damage and the run for holes for a fox to enter. The week before, Mr. Briggs had snared and killed a fox near the house. The fox had almost been beheaded by the trap and Adam had said something about being sorry. Mr. Briggs had scolded him and pointed out that a fox would kill any hen they had if he managed to get into the pen, but Adam was still disturbed at the sight of the dead animal with its tongue between his small,

Adam made himself a glass of Borwick's Lemon Barley before sitting down at the head of the table and asking Violet how she was doing. Violet stopped washing the dishes and turned to speak to him, her face bright with delight and surprise. Adam had intended to try very hard to be nice in hopes of finding out more from her, but Violet, who wasn't used to conversations with him that weren't about food or bedtime, or that weren't in sullen monosyllables, immediately jumped at the chance to build bridges between them, so Adam's acting skills weren't stretched very far. She dried her hands on a tea towel and sat down next to him.

"I'm fine, thanks," she said. "A little tired with Tommie and all, but that will pass. It's been a little weird lately. I'm sure you feel the same way, the four of us thrown together like this. But I'm glad you're here. This house is too big for one person but my parents wanted to keep it in the family. It was… important to them.”

"Why?" asked Adam. He tried not to sound too interested. He didn't want Violet to realize that the only reason he was talking to her was to find out more about the house and specifically his room and the books in it.

"Well," she said, "this house has been in our family for a very long time. My grandparents built it and lived in it with their children. They hoped it would stay in the family and that there would always be children living in it.”

"Did the books in my room belong to you?" Adam asked.

"Some of them," Violet said. "Others belonged to their children: my father, his sister, and..."

She paused for a moment.

"Joseph?" suggested Adam and Violet nodded. She looked sad.

"Yes. Joseph. How did you get his name?"

“It was written in some books. I wondered who he was.”

"He was my uncle, my father's older brother, although I never met him. Your room was once his bedroom, and many of those books were his. I'm sorry if you don't like them. I thought it would be such a nice room for you. I know it's a bit dark but it had all these shelves and of course the books. I should have been more thoughtful.”

Adam looked confused. "But why? I like it, and I like the books too."

Violet turned away. "Oh, it's nothing," she said. "It does not matter."

"No," Adam said. "Please tell me."

Violet gave in.

"Joseph has disappeared. He was only fourteen. It was a long time ago and my grandparents kept his room exactly as it had always been because they hoped he would come back to them. He never did. Another child disappeared with him, a little girl. Her name was Emma and she was the daughter of one of my grandfather's friends. He and his wife died in a fire and my grandfather took Emma to live with his family instead. Emma was seven. My grandfather thought it would be good for Joseph to have a little sister and for Emma to have a big brother to take care of them. Anyway, they must have wandered off and, oh I don't know, something happened to them and they were never seen again. It was just very, very sad. You've been looking for them for so long.

“In time they had two more children, my father and his sister Katherine, but my grandparents never forgot Joseph and never stopped hoping that one day he and Emma would come home. My grandfather in particular never recovered from her loss. He seemed to blame himself for what happened. I suppose he thought he should have protected her. I think that's why he died young. As my grandmother lay dying, she asked my father not to disturb the room but to leave the books in their place in case Joseph ever returned. She never lost hope. She also looked after Emma,??but Joseph was her eldest son and I don't think a day went by that she didn't stare out her bedroom window, hoping

“My father did as she asked: he left the books as they were, and later, when my father and mother died, so did I. I always wanted to have a family of my own and I think I just felt that Joseph loved his books so much that he wished he could have believed that one day there might be another little boy or girl to read them would appreciate, rather than abandoning them to decay unread. Now it's your room but if you want us to move you to another one we can do that. There is plenty of space.”

"How was Joseph? Did your grandfather ever tell you about him?”

thought Violet. "Well, I was just as curious about him as you are, and I would ask my grandfather about him. I've studied him pretty closely, I suppose. My grandfather said he was very calm. As you can see, he loved to read, as did you. It's funny in a way: he loved fairy tales, but they also scared him, but the ones that scared him the most were the ones he liked to read the most. He was afraid of wolves. I remember my grandfather once telling me that. Joseph had nightmares in which wolves were chasing him, and not just ordinary wolves: because they were from the stories he was reading, they could talk. They were clever, the wolves of his dreams, and dangerous. My grandfather tried to take his books away, his nightmares were so bad but Joseph hated being without them so in the end my grandfather would always give in and give them back to him. Some of the books were very old. They were old when Joseph owned them. I suppose some of them might even have been valuable if someone else hadn't even written in them. There were stories and drawings that didn't belong. My grandfather thought maybe it was the work of the man who sold it to him. He was a bookseller in London, a strange man. He sold a lot of children's books, but I don't think he liked children very much. I think he just liked scaring her.” My grandfather thought maybe it was the work of the man who sold them to him. He was a bookseller in London, a strange man. He sold a lot of children's books, but I don't think that he was very fond of children. I think he just liked scaring her.” My grandfather thought maybe it was the work of the man who sold them to him. He was a bookseller in London, a strange man. He sold a lot of children's books, but I don't think he liked children very much. I think he just liked scaring her."

Violet was now staring out the window, lost in memories of her grandfather and her missing uncle.

“My grandfather went back to that bookstore after Joseph and Emma went missing. I assume he thought that people with children of their own would buy books there and that either they or their children might have heard about the missing couple. But when he got to the street in question, he found that the bookstore was gone. It was boarded up. No one lived or worked there anymore, and no one could tell what happened to the little man who owned it. Maybe he died. He was very old, said my grandfather. Very old and very strange.”

The doorbell rang, breaking the spell of harmony between Adam and Violet. It was the postman and Violet went to meet him. When she returned she asked Adam if he would like something to eat, but Adam said no. He was already angry at himself for lowering his defense against Violet, even if he learned something from it. He didn't want her to think everything was fine between them now, because it wasn't at all. Instead, he left her alone in the kitchen and went back to his bedroom.

On the way he stopped by Tommie's. The baby slept soundly in its cradle, its large gas helmet and bellows for pumping air nearby. It wasn't his fault he was here, Adam tried to convince himself. He did not ask to be born. Still, Adam couldn't bring himself to terribly care for him, and every time he saw his father holding the newcomer, something inside him tore apart. He was like a symbol for everything that was wrong, for everything that had changed. After his mother died, it was just Adam and his father, and it made them closer because they could only count on each other. Now his father also had Violet and a new son. But Adam, well, he didn't have anyone else. It was just himself.

Adam left the baby and returned to his attic where he spent the rest of the afternoon looking through Joseph Redford's old books. He sat in the window seat and thought that Joseph had once sat in that seat. He had walked the same hallways, eaten in the same kitchen, played in the same living room, even slept in the same bed as Adam. Perhaps he was still doing all of these things somewhere in the past, and both Adam and Joseph now occupied the same space, but at different stages of history, such that Joseph walked around Adam's world like an invisible spirit, unaware that he was she shared his bed with a stranger every night. The thought made Adam shudder, but it also gave him pleasure to think that two boys,

He wondered what could have happened to Joseph and little girl Emma.

Perhaps they had run away, although Adam was old enough to understand that there was a world of difference between the kind of running away seen in storybooks and the reality of a fourteen-year-old boy with a seven-year-old girl in tow. It wouldn't have taken long for them to get tired and hungry if something had made them run away and regret what they had done.

Adam's father had told him that if he ever got lost, he should find a police officer or ask an adult to find one for him. However, he should not approach men who were alone. He should always ask a lady or a man and a woman together, preferably those with a child of their own. You can't be too careful, his father would say. Had that happened to Joseph and Emma? Had they spoken to the wrong person, someone who didn't want to help them get home but had spirited them away and hidden them in a place where no one would ever find them?

Why would anyone do that?

As he lay on his bed, Adam knew there was an answer to that question. Before his mother had finally gone to the hospital, he had overheard her talking to his father about the death of a local boy named Billy Golding who had disappeared one day on his way home from school. Billy Golding didn't go to Adam's school and he wasn't one of Adam's friends, but Adam knew what he looked like because Billy was a very good soccer player who played in the park on Saturday mornings. People said a man from Arsenal spoke to Mr Golding about Billy joining the club when he was older, but someone else said Billy made that up and it wasn't true at all. Then Billy disappeared and the police came to the park two Saturdays in a row to speak to anyone who might know something about him. They talked to Adam and his father,

Then, a few days later, Adam heard at school that Billy Golding's body had been found by the tracks.

That evening, as he was getting ready for bed, he overheard his mother and father talking in their bedroom and learned that Billy had been naked when he was discovered and that police had arrested a man who was with his Mom lived in a clean little house not far from where the body was found. Adam knew from the way they spoke that something very bad had happened to Billy before he died, something to do with the man from the tidy little house.

Adam's mother had made a special effort to leave her room to kiss Adam that night. She hugged him very tightly and again warned him not to talk to strange men. She told him that he must always come straight home from school, and that if a stranger ever approached Adam and offered him candy or promised Adam to give him a pet pigeon if they would just go with him, he should move on would go as fast as he could, and if the man tried to follow him, then Adam should go to the first house he came to and tell them what was going on. Whatever else he did, he was never allowed to go with a stranger, no matter what the stranger said. Adam told her he would never do that. When he made the promise to his mother, a question came to him, but he didn't ask it. She looked worried enough as it was, and Adam didn't want her to worry so much that she wouldn't even let him play. But the question lingered in his mind even after she turned off the light and he was left in the darkness of his room. The question was:

But what if he made me go with him?

Now, in another bedroom, he thought of Joseph Redford and Emma and wondered if a man from a tidy little house, a man who lived with his mother and had candy in his bag, had made her come with him to walk the tracks.

And there, in the dark, he had played with them in his own way.

That evening at dinner his father spoke again about the war. It still didn't feel like a war was going on to Adam. All the fights took place far away although they could see some of it on the newsreels when they went to the pictures.

It was way more boring than Adam expected. War sounded pretty exciting, but the reality has been very different so far. True, squadrons of Spitfires and Hurricanes often flew overhead, and dogfights were frequent over the English Channel. German bombers had repeatedly attacked airfields in the south and even dropped bombs on St Giles, Cripplegate in the East End (which Mr.

Briggs described it as "typical Nazi behavior" which Adam's father explained less emotionally as a botched attempt to destroy the Thames haven oil refinery).

Still, Adam felt removed from it all. It wasn't like it was happening in his own backyard. In London, people took items from downed German planes as souvenirs, although no one was supposed to go near the wreckage, and Nazi pilots disembarking regularly caused a stir among the citizenry.

Though they were scarce fifty miles from London, all was very tranquil here.

His father folded the Daily Express next to his plate. The newspaper was thinner than before, except for six pages. Adam's father said it was because they started rationing paper. The magnet had stopped printing in July, which Adam withheld from Billy Bunter, but there was still the Boy's Own newspaper each month, which Adam always filed carefully next to his Aircraft of the Fighting Powers books.

"Are you going to have to go and fight?" Adam asked his father when dinner was over.

"No, I don't think so," his father replied. "I'm more used to the war effort where I am."

"Top secret," Adam said.

His father smiled at him.

"Yes, top secret," he said.

The thought that his father might be a spy, or at least knew something about spies, still gave Adam a thrill. It's been the only interesting part of the war so far.

That night Adam lay in his bed and watched the moonlight stream through the window. The sky was clear and the moon was very bright. After a while his eyes closed and he dreamed of wolves and little girls and an old king in a ruined castle, fast asleep on his throne. Railroad tracks ran beside the castle, and figures moved through the long grass that grew beside them. There was a boy and a girl and the dishonest man. They disappeared underground and Adam smelled gumdrops and mints and he heard a little girl cry before her voice was drowned out by the sound of an approaching train.

Chapter 5

Of invaders and transformations

THE Dishonest Man finally crossed over to Adam's world in early September.

It had been a long, tense summer. His father spent more time at work than at home, sometimes not sleeping in his own bed for two or three nights in a row. In any case, it was often too difficult for him to return to the house after nightfall. All street signs had been removed to prevent a German invasion, and on more than one occasion Adam's father had managed to get lost driving home in daylight. If he tried driving at night with his headlights off, who knew where he'd end up?

Violet found being a mother difficult. Adam wondered if his own mother had found it just as difficult, if Adam had been as demanding as Tommie seemed to be. He hoped not. The stress of the situation had caused Violet's tolerance for Adam and his moods to sink ever lower. They hardly spoke to each other anymore, and Adam could tell that his father's patience with the two of them was almost exhausted. At dinner the night before, he had exploded when Violet took an innocent remark from Adam as an insult and the two started arguing.

"Why can't you two just find a way to get along to scream out loud!" his father had yelled. "I'm not coming home for that. I can get all the excitement and screaming fights I want at work.”

Tommie, sitting in his high chair, started crying.

"Now look at what you did," Violet said. She threw her napkin on the table and went to Tommie.

Adam's father buried his head in his hands.

"So it's all my fault," he said.

"Well, it's not mine," Violet replied.

At the same time, her eyes focused on Adam.

"What?" he said. "You are blaming me. Fine!"

He stomped off the table, leaving his dinner unfinished. He was still hungry, but the stew was mostly vegetables with some ugly bits of cheap sausage thrown in between to break the monotony. He knew he had to eat the rest tomorrow, but he didn't care. Warmed up, it wouldn't taste any worse than it did anyway. As he went to his room, he expected to hear his father's voice telling him to come back and finish his meal, but no one called him back. He sat down hard on his bed. He couldn't wait for summer vacation to end. A place had been found for Adam in a school not far from the house, which would at least be better than spending every day with Violet and Tommie.

Adam saw Dr. Atwood not as often anymore, mainly because nobody had time to bring him to London. In any case, the attacks had stopped, or so it seemed.

He no longer fell to the ground or experienced blackouts, but now something far stranger and disturbing, stranger even than the whispering of the books to which Adam had almost become accustomed, was happening.

Adam experienced waking dreams. That was the only way he could describe her to himself. It felt like those late evening moments when you're reading or listening to the radio and get so tired you fall asleep for a moment and start dreaming, except you obviously don't realize you've fallen asleep so the world seemed suddenly to become very strange. Adam would play or read in his room or walk in the garden and everything would shimmer. The walls would disappear, the book would fall from his hands, the garden would be replaced by hills and tall, gray trees. He would find himself in a new land, a seedy place of shadows and cold winds, heavy with the scent of wild animals. Sometimes he even heard voices. They seemed somehow familiar when they called him

The strangest thing was that one of the voices sounded like his mother's. It was the one who spoke the loudest and clearest. She called out to him out of the darkness. She called him and told him she was alive.

The waking dreams were always strongest near the sunken garden, but Adam found them so disturbing that he tried to stay away from that part of the property as much as possible. In fact, Adam was so disturbed by them that he was tempted to call Dr. To tell Atwood about it if his father could find time for an appointment.

Maybe he would finally tell him about the whispering of the books too, Adam thought. The two might be connected, but then he thought of Dr. Atwood's questions about Adam's mother and once again recalled the threat of being "locked up." When Adam spoke to him about missing his mother, Dr. Atwood, on the other hand, about grief and loss, about how natural it was but you had to try to get over it. But being sad that your mother died was one thing; Hearing her voice screaming from the shadows of a sunken garden, claiming to live behind the crumbling stonework, was something else entirely. Adam wasn't sure how Dr.

Atwood would respond. He didn't want to be locked away, but the dreams were scary. He wanted them to stop.

It was one of his last days at home before school started again. Tired of the house, Adam went for a walk in the woods behind the property. He took a big stick and mowed down the tall grass. He found a spider's web in a bush and tried to lure the spider out with small sticks. He dropped one near the center of the net, but nothing happened. Adam realized it was because the stick wasn't moving. It was the insect's struggles that alarmed the spider, leading Adam to think that spiders might be a lot smarter than something so small should be.

He looked back at the house and saw his bedroom window. The ivy growing on the walls almost surrounded the frame, making his room feel more like a part of the natural world than ever. Now that he was seeing it from afar, he noticed that the ivy was thickest on his window and had barely touched any of the other windows on that side of the house. Nor had it spread over the lower parts of the wall like ivy usually did, but had climbed straight and straight along a narrow path to Adam's window. Like the beanstalk in the tale that led Jack to the giant, the ivy seemed to know exactly where it was going.

And then a figure moved in Adam's room. He saw a figure dressed in forest green pass the glass. For a moment he was sure it had to be Violet, or maybe Mrs. Briggs. But then Adam remembered that Mrs. Briggs had gone down to the village while Violet rarely came into his room, and when she did she always asked his permission first. It wasn't his father either. The person in the room was the wrong shape for him. Actually, Adam thought, whoever was in his room was in the wrong shape, period. The figure was hunched slightly, as if so used to slinking that its body was twisted, spine arched, arms like twisted branches, fingers clasped, ready to grasp anything it saw. Its nose was narrow and hooked, and it wore a crooked hat. It disappeared from view for a moment before reappearing with one of Adam's books. The character flipped through the pages before finding something that interested him, after which he paused and appeared to be reading.

Then Adam suddenly heard Tommie crying in his bedroom. The figure dropped the book and listened. Adam saw his fingers stretch in the air as if Tommie was hanging in front of it like an apple ready to be plucked from the tree. It seemed to be arguing with itself about what to do next, for Adam saw his left hand move to his pointed chin and gently stroke it. As it thought, it glanced over its shoulder and down at the forest below. It saw Adam and froze for a moment before falling to the ground, but in that moment Adam saw charcoal eyes set in a pale face so long and thin it looked like it had been stretched on a trestle. His mouth was very wide and his lips were very, very dark, like old sour wine.

Adam ran to the house. He stormed into the kitchen where his father was reading the newspaper. "Dad, there's someone in my room!" he said.

His father looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"There's a man up there," Adam insisted. "I was walking in the woods and I looked up at my window and he was there. He wore a hat and his face was very long. Then he heard the baby cry and he stopped whatever he was doing and listened. He saw me looking at him and he tried to hide. Please, Dad, you have to believe me!”

His father frowned and put the newspaper down. "Adam, if you're joking..."

"I'm not, honestly!"

He followed his father up the stairs, cane still in hand. The door to his room was closed and Adam's father paused before opening it. Then he reached down and turned the knob. The door opened.

Nothing happened for a second.

"See," Adam's father said. "There is nothing-"

Something hit his father in the face and he cried out loudly. There was a panicked flutter and knock as whatever hit the walls and window. When the initial shock wore off, Adam peered around his father and saw that the intruder was a magpie, its feathers a blurry black and white as it attempted to escape from the room.

"Stay outside and keep the door closed," his father said. "Those are vicious birds."

Adam did as he was told, although he was still scared. He heard his father open the window and yell at the magpie, urging it towards the gap until finally he could no longer hear the bird and his father, sweating slightly, opened the door.

"Well, that scared both of us," he said.

Adam looked around the room. There were a few feathers on the floor, but that was all. There was no sign of the bird or the strange little man he had seen. He went to the window. The magpie sat on the crumbling masonry of the sunken garden. It seemed to stare at him.

"It was just a magpie," said his father. "You saw that."

Adam was tempted to argue, but he knew his father would only tell him he was stupid to insist that something else had been in here, something far bigger and far more evil than a magpie. Magpies didn't wear crooked hats or reach out for crying babies. Adam had seen his eyes and his bent body and his long grasping fingers.

He looked back at the sunken garden. The magpie was gone.

His father sighed theatrically. "You still don't think it was just a magpie, do you?" he said.

He got on his knees and checked under the bed. He opened the closet and looked into the bathroom next door. He even peeked behind the bookshelves, where there was a gap barely big enough to accommodate Adam's hand.

"See?" said his father. "It was just a bird."

But he could see that Adam wasn't convinced, so together they searched all the rooms on the top floor and then the floors below until it became clear that the only people in the house were Adam, his father, Violet and the baby. Then Adam's father left him and went back to his newspaper. Back in his room, Adam picked up a book from the floor by his window. It was one of Joseph Redford's fairy tale books, and it lay openly with the story of Little Red Riding Hood. The story was illustrated by an image of the wolf towering over the little girl, baring grandmother's blood on his claws and baring his teeth to devour her granddaughter. Someone, presumably Joseph, had scribbled on the shape of the wolf in black crayon, as if disturbed by the threat it posed. Adam closed the book and put it back on his shelf. As he did so, he noticed the silence in his room. There was no whisper. All books were silent.

I suppose a magpie could have removed that book, Adam thought, but a magpie could not enter a room through a locked window. Someone else had been there, he was sure of that. In the ancient stories, people always turned or were turned into animals and birds. Couldn't the dishonest man turn himself into a magpie to avoid detection?

He hadn't gone far though, oh no. He had flown only as far as the sunken garden and then disappeared.

That night, as Adam lay in bed, caught between sleeping and waking, his mother's voice came to him out of the darkness of the sunken garden, calling his name and demanding that she not be forgotten.

And Adam knew then that the time was fast approaching when he had to enter this place and finally face what lay within.

Chapter 6

About war and the way between the worlds

The next day, Adam AND Violet had their worst fight.

It came a long time ago. Violet breastfed Tommie, which meant she was forced to get up at night to attend to his needs. But even after he was fed, Tommie would toss and turn and cry, and there was little Adam's father could do to help him, even when he was around. This sometimes led to arguments with Violet. They usually started with something small – a dish his father forgot to put away, or dirt that had spilled across the kitchen onto the soles of his shoes - and quickly escalated into screaming fights, ending with Violet bursting into tears and Tommie the screams repeated to his mother.

Adam thought his father looked older and more tired than before. He worried about him. He missed his father's presence. That morning, the morning of the big fight, Adam stood by the bathroom door and watched his father shave.

"You work really hard," he said.

"I suppose so."

"You're tired all the time."

"I'm tired of you and Violet not getting along."

"Sorry," Adam said.

"Hmm mph," said his father.

He finished his shave, wiped the foam off his face with water from the sink, then dried himself off with a pink towel.

"I don't see you that much anymore," Adam said, "that's all. I miss having you around."

His father smiled at him and then gently slapped his ear. "I know," he said.

“But we all have to make sacrifices, and there are men and women out there who make far greater sacrifices than we do. They are risking their lives and it is my duty to do whatever I can to help them. It is important that we find out what the Germans are up to and what they suspect of our people. This is my job.

And don't forget that we're lucky here. They have it much harder in London.”

The Germans had hit London hard the day before. According to Adam's father, a thousand planes had once fought over the Isle of Sheppey. Adam wondered what London looked like now. Was it full of burnt out buildings, full of rubble where roads used to be? Were the pigeons still in Trafalgar Square? He assumed they were. The pigeons weren't smart enough to go anywhere else. Maybe his father was right and they were lucky to be away from it, but part of Adam thought again that living in London now must be pretty exciting. Sometimes scary, but exciting.

"In time it will come to an end and then we can all go back to normal lives," his father said.

"When?" asked Adam.

His father looked worried. "I don't know. Not for a while."

"Months?"

"Longer, I think."

"Are we winning, dad?"

"We're holding out, Adam. Right now that's the best we can do."

Adam left his father to get dressed. They all had breakfast together before his father left, but Violet and his father spoke little to each other. Adam knew they had fought again, so he decided to avoid Violet even more than usual when his father went to work. He went to his room for a while and played with his mercenaries, then later lay down in the shade at the back of the house to read his book.

That's where Violet found him. Although his book lay open on his chest, Adam's attention was elsewhere. He stared at the far end of the lawn where the sunken garden lay, his eyes fixed on the hole in the brickwork as if expecting to see movement in it.

"So there you are," Violet said.

Adam looked up at her. The sun was shining in his eyes, so he had to squint.

"What do you want?" he asked.

He hadn't intended it to turn out the way it did. He sounded disrespectful and rude, but he wasn't, or no more than ever. He figured he could have asked, "What can I do for you?" or even prefixed with "yes" or

"Sure" or just "Hello" to what he had said, but by the time he thought of it it was too late.

Violet had red spots under her eyes. Her skin was pale and it looked like there were more wrinkles on her forehead and face than before. She was heavier too, but Adam assumed that had to do with the birth of the baby. He had asked his father about it, and his father had told him never to mention it to Violet, no matter what happened. He meant it very seriously. In fact, he had used the words "more than our lives are worth" to emphasize the importance of Adam keeping such opinions to himself.

Now Violet was standing next to Adam, fatter and paler and more tired, and even with the sun in his eyes he could see the anger rising in her.

"How dare you speak to me like that!" she said. "You sit with your head in your books all day and contribute nothing to the life of this house. You can't even keep a civil tongue in your head. Who do you Think You Are?"

Adam was about to apologize but didn't. What she said wasn't fair. He'd offered to help with things, but Violet almost always turned him down, mostly because he seemed to catch her when Tommie was acting up or when she had her hands full with something else. Mr. Briggs tended the garden and Adam always tried to help him sweep and rake, but that was outside where Violet couldn't see what he was doing. Mrs. Briggs did most of the cleaning and cooking, but whenever Adam tried to give her a hand, she shooed him out of the room, claiming it was just another thing to trip over.

It had just seemed to him that it would be best to avoid everyone as much as possible. Besides, these were the last days of his summer vacation. The village school had postponed the opening by a few days due to teacher shortages, but his father seemed confident that Adam would be behind his new desk by early next week at the latest. From then until half term he was at school during the day and did homework in the evenings. His working day would be almost as long as his father's. Why not take it easy while he could? Now his anger towards Violets grew. He got up and saw that he was now as tall as she was. The words poured out of his mouth almost before he knew he was speaking,

"No, who do you think you are?" he said. "You're not my mother and you can't talk to me like that. I didn't want to come here to live. I wanted to be with my father. We were fine on our own, and then you came along. Now there's Tommie, and you think I'm just someone to get in your way. Well, you're in my way, and you're in my dad's way. He still loves my mother, just like me. He still thinks about her and he will never love you the way he loved her, ever. It doesn't matter what you do or what you say. He still loves her. He. Quiet. loves. She."

Violet hit him. She slapped his cheek with the palm of her hand. It wasn't a hard punch, and she pulled the punch as soon as she realized what she was doing, but the impact was still enough to rock Adam on his heels. His cheek burned and his eyes watered. He stood up, mouth agape in shock, then walked past Violet and ran to his room. He didn't look back, not even when she called after him and said she was sorry. He locked the door behind him and refused to open it when she knocked on it. After a while she went away and did not return.

Adam stayed in his room until his father came home. He heard Violet talking to him in the hallway. His father's voice grew louder. Violet tried to calm him down.

Footsteps could be heard on the stairs. Adam knew what was coming.

The door to his room was nearly ripped off its hinges by the force of his father's fists.

“Adam, open this door. Open it now.”

Adam did as he was told, turning the key once in the lock and then hastily stepping back as his father entered. His father's face was almost purple with anger. He raised his hand as if to slap Adam, then seemed to change his mind. He swallowed once, took a deep breath, and then shook his head. When he spoke again, his voice was oddly calm, which worried Adam more than the previous anger.

"You have no right to talk to Violet like that," his father said. “You will show respect to her, just as you show respect to me. It's been tough for all of us, but that doesn't excuse your behavior today. I haven't decided what I'm going to do with you or how you're going to be punished. If it weren't already too late, I would send you to boarding school and then you would realize how lucky you are to be here."

Adam tried to speak. "But Violet, hello..."

His father raised his hand. "I don't want to hear about it. If you open your mouth again, it will be difficult for you. You stay in your room for the time being. You won't go outside tomorrow. They won't read or play with their toys.

Your door stays open and if I catch you reading or playing then help me, I'll bring you a belt. You will sit there on your bed and think about what you said and how you will make it up to Violet when you are finally allowed to live with civilized people again. I'm disappointed in you Adam. I raised you to behave better. We both have that, your mother and I.”

With that he left. Adam sank back onto his bed. He didn't want to cry, but he couldn't stop himself. It wasn't fair. He was wrong to talk to Violet like that, but she was wrong to hit him. As his tears fell, he became aware of the murmur of the books on the shelves. He'd gotten so used to it that he almost didn't hear it anymore, like birdsong or the wind in the trees, but now it was getting louder and louder. A smell of burning greeted him, like igniting matches and sparks from tram wires. He gritted his teeth as the first spasm came, but there was no one there to see. A great rift appeared in his room and ripped the fabric of this world, and he saw another realm beyond. There was a castle, with banners flying from its battlements, and mercenaries marching through its gates in columns. Then that castle was gone and another took its place, this one surrounded by fallen trees. It was darker than the first, its shape unclear, and dominated by a single great tower pointing like a finger to the sky. The top window was lit and Adam sensed a presence there. It was strange and familiar at the same time. It called him in his mother's voice. It said, Adam, I'm not dead. Come to me and save me. The top window was lit and Adam sensed a presence there. It was strange and familiar at the same time. It called him in his mother's voice. It said, Adam, I'm not dead. Come to me and save me. The top window was lit and Adam sensed a presence there. It was strange and familiar at the same time. It called him in his mother's voice. It said, Adam, I'm not dead. Come to me and save me.

Adam didn't know how long he had been unconscious or if he had eventually fallen asleep, but his room was dark when he opened his eyes. There was a foul taste in his mouth and he realized he had been sick on his pillow. He wanted to go to his father and tell him about the attack, but he was sure there would be little sympathy for him from that quarter. There was no sound in the house, so he assumed everyone was in bed. The waiting moon shone on the rows of books, but they were silent again now, save for the occasional snore, purpled by the duller, more boring volumes. There was a history of the charcoal board, abandoned and unloved on a high shelf, which was particularly uninteresting and had an unpleasant habit of to snore very loudly and then cough loudly, at which point small clouds of black dust would appear to rise from the sides. Adam heard coughing now, but he was aware of a certain wakefulness in some of the older books that contained the strange, dark tales he loved so much. He sensed that they were waiting for an event, although he couldn't say what it might be.

Adam was sure he had dreamed, although he couldn't quite remember what the dream was about. Of one thing he was certain: the dream had not been a pleasant one, but all that remained was a lingering feeling of uneasiness and a tingling sensation in his right palm, as if it had been stroked with poison ivy.

He had the same feeling on the side of his face, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something uncomfortable had touched him while he was lost to the world.

He was still in his day clothes. He got out of bed, undressed in the dark, and put on clean pajamas. He returned to his bed and wrestled with his pillow, tossing and turning to find a comfortable position to sleep, but no rest came. As he lay there with his eyes closed, he noticed that his window was open. He didn't like being frank. It was hard enough keeping the bugs out even when it was closed and the last thing he wanted was for the magpie to come back while he was sleeping.

Adam left his bed and cautiously approached the window. Something rippled over his bare foot and he picked it up, startled. It was an ivy. Shoots hung from it on the inner wall, and green fingers stretched across the wardrobe and the carpet and the chest of drawers. He had spoken to Mr. Briggs about it and the gardener had promised to get a ladder and cut the ivy off the outside wall, but so far that had not happened. Adam didn't like touching the ivy. The way it entered his room almost made it seem alive.

Adam found his slippers and put them on before walking across the ivy to the glass. He heard a woman's voice say his name.

"Adam."

"Mummy?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes, Adam, it's me. Listen. No fear."

But Adam was afraid.

"Please," said the voice. "I need your help. I'm trapped in here. I'm trapped in this strange place and I don't know what to do. Please come Adam. If you love me, come over."

"Mom," he said. "I'm afraid."

The voice spoke again, but now it was weaker.

"Adam," it said, "they're taking me with them. Don't let me take it from you

Please! Follow me and take me home. Follow me through the garden.”

And with that, Adam overcame his fear. He grabbed his robe and ran as fast and quietly as he could down the stairs and out onto the grass. He stopped in the dark. There was a disturbance in the night sky, a faint, erratic putt-putt sound coming from high above. Adam looked up and saw something glowing faintly, like a falling meteor. It was an airplane. He kept an eye on the light until he got to the steps that led to the sunken garden and took them as fast as he could. He didn't want to stop because if he stopped he might think about what he was going to do and if he started thinking about it he might get too scared to do it. He felt the grass crumble beneath his feet as he ran toward the hole in the wall, even though the light in the sky was growing brighter. The plane was blazing red now, and the noise of its stuttering engines rent the night. Adam stopped and watched it come down. It fell quickly, shedding flaming shards as it came. It was too big to be a fighter. That was a bomber. He thought he could make out the shape of its fire-lit wings and hear the desperate roar of the remaining engines as the plane fell to earth. It grew bigger and bigger until finally it seemed to fill the sky, eclipsing their house and lighting up the night with red and orange fire. He thought he could make out the shape of its fire-lit wings and hear the desperate roar of the remaining engines as the plane fell to earth. It grew bigger and bigger until finally it seemed to fill the sky, eclipsing their house and lighting up the night with red and orange fire. He thought he could make out the shape of its fire-lit wings and hear the desperate roar of the remaining engines as the plane fell to earth. It grew bigger and bigger until finally it seemed to fill the sky, eclipsing their house and lighting up the night with red and orange fire.

It headed straight for the sunken garden, flames licking at the German cross on its torso as if something in heaven was determined to prevent Adam from moving between realms.

The choice had been made for him. Adam couldn't hesitate. He forced his way through the gap in the wall and into the darkness just as the world he had left behind turned into an inferno.

Chapter 7

About the woodcutter and the work of his axe

THE BRICKS AND MORTAR were gone. Now there was rough bark under Adam's fingers. He was in a tree trunk, in front of him a vaulted hole, beyond which lay shady forests. Leaves fell and descended in slow spirals to the forest floor. Thorny bushes and stinging nettles offered low shelter, but there were no flowers for Adam to see. It was a landscape of green and brown. Everything seemed lit by a strange half-light, as if dawn was just approaching or the day was finally drawing to a close.

Adam stood still in the darkness of the trunk, not moving. His mother's voice was gone, and now there was only the barely audible sound of leaf upon leaf and the distant rush of water over rocks. There was no trace of the German plane, no indication that it had ever existed. He was tempted to turn back, run to the house and wake up his father to tell him what he had seen. But what could he say, and why did his father believe him after everything that had happened that day? He needed proof, a sign of this new world.

And so Adam emerged from the hollow of the tree trunk. The sky above was starless, the constellations obscured by heavy clouds. At first the air smelled fresh and clean to him, but as he took a deep breath he caught a whiff of something else, something less pleasant. Adam could almost taste it on his tongue: a metallic sensation composed of copper and rot. It reminded him of the day he and his father had found a dead cat by the side of the road, torn its fur and exposed its insides. The cat had smelled very much of the night air in the new country. Adam was shaking, and only partially from the cold.

Suddenly he felt a loud roaring noise behind him and a feeling of heat in his back. He threw himself to the ground and rolled away as the trunk of the tree began to expand and the hollow widened until it resembled the entrance to a large bark-lined cave. Flames flickered deep within, and then, like a mouth spitting out a tasteless morsel of food, it spat out part of the German bomber's flaming fuselage, the body of one of its crew members, still trapped in the wreckage of the nacelle below machine gun aimed at Adam. The wreck tore a blackened, flaming path through the undergrowth before coming to rest in a clearing, still belching smoke and fumes as flames fed on it.

Adam stood up and brushed leaves and dirt from his clothes. He tried to approach the burning plane. It was a Ju 88; he could tell by the gondola. He could see the remains of the gunner, now almost entirely engulfed in flames. He wondered if any of the crew had survived. The trapped flyer's body lay pressed against the gondola's cracked glass, his mouth grinning white in his charred skull.

Adam had never seen death up close, not like this, not violent and smelly and turning black. He couldn't help but think about the German's last moments, caught in the scorching heat, his skin burning. He felt sorry for the dead man whose name he would never know.

Something hissed past his ear like the warm passage of a night insect, followed almost immediately by a cracking sound. A second insect buzzed by, but by then Adam was lying flat on the ground, scrambling for cover, when the. .303's ammunition ignited. He found a hollow in the ground and threw himself in, covering his head with his hands and trying to stay as flat as possible until the hail of bullets stopped. Only when he was sure that the ammunition had been completely used did he dare to raise his head again. He stood cautiously and watched as flames and sparks shot into the sky. For the first time he got a sense of how tall the trees were in this forest, taller and wider than even the oldest oaks in the woods at home. Their trunks were gray and entirely without branches until

A black, box-like object had detached itself from the main body of the crashed plane and was now lying, smoking lightly, not far from where Adam was standing. It looked like an old camera but with wheels on the side. He could understand the word

"Perspective" marking on one of the wheels. Beneath it was a label that said "On Colored Glass On".

It was a bomb. Adam had seen pictures of them. The German planes had thus identified their targets on the ground. Perhaps that had even been the job of the man now burning in the rubble, for the city would have passed beneath him as he lay in the gondola. Some of Adam's pity for the dead seeped away. The bomb sight made what they had done seem more real, somehow more horrible. He thought of the families huddled in their Anderson shelters, the crying children and the adults hoping that whatever was coming would strike far from them, or the crowds gathering in the underground Train stations gathered and listened to the explosions, dust and dirt falling on their heads as the bombs shook the ground above.

And they would be the lucky ones.

Kicking hard at the bomb sight, he landed a perfect right-foot shot and felt a surge of satisfaction when he heard the sound of broken glass from inside and knew the delicate lenses were shattered.

Now that the excitement was over, Adam put his hands in the pockets of his dressing gown and tried to take in a little more of his surroundings. About four or five paces behind him, four bright purple flowers stood high above the grass. They were the first signs of real color he'd seen so far. Their leaves were yellow and orange, and the hearts of the flowers themselves looked to Adam like the faces of sleeping children. Even in the darkness of the forest, he thought he could make out their closed eyelids, their mouths slightly open, and their twin nostrils. They were unlike any flower he had ever seen before. If he could take one and give it to his father, maybe he could convince him that this place really exists.

Adam approached the flowers, dead leaves crunching under his feet. He almost reached her when the eyelids of one of the flowers opened to reveal small yellow eyes. Then its lips parted and it let out a scream. Immediately the other flowers awoke, and then, almost simultaneously, they closed their leaves on themselves, revealing hard, prickly undersides that gleamed faintly with sticky residue. Something told Adam that touching those barbs wasn't a good idea. He thought of nettles and poison ivy. They were bad enough, but who knew what poisons the plants here might use to defend themselves?

Adam's nose wrinkled. The wind blew the stench of the burning planes away from him, and his stench had now been replaced by another. The metallic smell he had sensed earlier was stronger here. Stepping a few steps deeper into the forest, he saw an uneven formation beneath the fallen leaves, splotches of blue and red that indicated something lay hidden beneath. It was roughly the shape of a man. Adam came closer and saw clothing and fur underneath. His brow furrowed. It was an animal, an animal that wore clothes. It had claws on its fingers and legs like a dog's. Adam tried to get a look at his face but there was none. His head had been severed clean from his body, and recently too

Adam covered his mouth so he wouldn't get sick. The sight of two bodies in as many minutes made his stomach churn. He stepped away from the body and turned back to his tree. As he did so, the large hole in the trunk disappeared, the tree shrank to its previous size, and the bark seemed to grow across the gap as he watched, completely obscuring the path back to his own world. It became just another tree in a forest of tall trees that were almost indistinguishable from each other. Adam touched the wood with his fingers, pushing and tapping, hoping to find a way to reopen the portal to his old life, but nothing happened. He almost cried, but he knew that if he started crying, all would be lost.

He would be just a little boy, powerless and afraid, far from home. Instead, he looked around and spotted the top of a large, flat rock sticking out of the dirt.

He dug it free and struck the trunk of the tree with his sharpest edge: once, then again, over and over again, until the bark splintered and fell to the ground.

Adam thought he felt the tree tremble the way someone would if they had suddenly suffered a severe shock. The white of the inner flesh turned red, and what looked very much like blood began to ooze from the wound, running through the canals and crevices of the rind and dripping onto the ground below.

A voice said, "Don't do that. The trees don't like that."

Adam turned around. A short distance from him a man stood in the shadows. He was tall and tall, with broad shoulders and short dark hair. He wore brown leather boots that reached almost to his knees and a short coat of skins and hides. His eyes were very green, making him look almost like part of the forest itself in human form. He carried an ax over his right shoulder.

Adam dropped the stone. "I'm sorry," he said. "I did not know it."

The man looked at him in silence. "No," he finally said. "I don't suppose you did."

He walked towards Adam and the boy instinctively took a few steps back until he felt his hands brush the tree. Again it seemed to tremble under his touch, but the feeling was less pronounced than before, as if it were gradually recovering from the injury it had sustained and now, in the presence of the approaching stranger, assured of no such injuries give would be visited again. Adam wasn't so reassured by the man's approach: he had an axe, the kind of ax that looked like it could sever a head from a body.

Now that the man had emerged from the shadows, Adam could examine his face more closely. He thought the man looked stern, but there was kindness in it too, and the boy felt like there was someone here who could be trusted. He began to relax a little, though he kept a wary eye on the great axe.

"Who are you?" said Adam.

"I could ask you the same question," said the man. "These woods are in my care, and I've never seen you in them. Anyway, to answer you, I'm the lumberjack. I have no other name, or one that matters.”

The lumberjack approached the burning plane. The flames were now dying, leaving the scaffolding exposed. It looked like the skeleton of a large animal left to burn after the roasted meat was stripped of its bones. The shooter was no longer clearly visible. He had become another dark figure in a tangle of metal and machinery. The lumberjack shook his head in wonder, then walked away from the rubble and returned to Adam. He reached past the boy and placed his hand on the trunk of the wounded tree. He took a good look at the damage Adam had done to him, then patted the tree like you would pat a horse or a dog. He knelt down and removed some moss from the nearby rocks, which he stuffed into the hole.

"It's all right, old fellow," he said to the tree. "It will heal soon enough."

High above Adam's head, the branches moved for a moment, although all other trees stood still.

The woodcutter turned his attention back to Adam. "And now," he said, "it's your turn. What's your name and what are you doing here? This is not a place for a boy to wander alone. Did you come here in that… thing?”

He pointed to the plane.

"No, that's what happened to me. my name is Adam I came through the tree trunk.

There was a hole, but it disappeared. So I chopped off the bark. I was hoping to cut myself back in, or at least mark the tree so I could find it again.”

"You came through the tree?" he asked. "Where do you come from?"

"A garden," said Adam. "There was a little gap in one corner and I found a way from there to here. I thought I heard my mother's voice and followed her.

Now the way back is gone.”

The woodcutter pointed to the wreck again. "And how did you come to bring this?"

"It was fought. It fell from the sky.”

If the woodcutter was surprised by this information, he did not show it.

"There's a man's body in there," said the woodcutter. "Did you know him?"

“He was the gunner, one of the crew. I had never seen him before. He was a German.”

"He's dead now."

The woodcutter touched the tree again with his fingers and lightly traced its surface as if hoping to find the telltale cracks of a doorway beneath its skin.

"As you say, there is no longer a door. However, you were right in trying to mark that tree, even if your methods were clumsy.”

He reached into the folds of his jacket and removed a small ball of coarse twine.

He unraveled it until he was satisfied it was the right length, then tied it around the trunk of the tree. From a small leather case he pulled out a gray, sticky substance that he smeared onto the cord. It didn't smell nice at all.

"This will keep the animals and birds from chewing on the rope," the lumberjack explained. He picked up his axe. "You'd better come with me," he said. "We'll decide what to do with you tomorrow, but for now we have to get you to safety."

Adam didn't move. He could still smell blood and decay in the air, and now that he'd seen the ax up close he thought he'd spotted red drips along its length. There were also red stains on the man's clothing.

"Sorry," he said as innocently as he could, "but if you care about the forest, why do you need an axe?"

The woodcutter looked at Adam almost in amusement, as if he saw through the boy's efforts to hide his misgivings, but was nonetheless impressed by his insidiousness.

"The ax is not for the forest," said the woodcutter. "It's for the things that live in the woods."

He lifted his head and sniffed the air. He aimed the ax at the headless corpse. "You smelled it," he said.

Adam nods. "I saw it too. Did you do it?"

"I did."

"It looked like a man, but it wasn't."

"No," said the woodcutter. "No man. We can talk about that later. You have nothing to fear from me, but there are other creatures we both have to fear. Come on now. Their time is near, and the heat and the smell of burning flesh will lure them to this place.”

Adam, realizing he had no choice, followed the woodcutter. He was cold and his slippers were damp, so the woodcutter gave him his jacket to wear and lifted Adam onto his back. It had been a long time since anyone had carried Adam on their back. It was too heavy for his father now, but the woodcutter didn't seem to mind the load. They walked through the forest, the trees seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of them. Adam tried to take in the new sights, but the woodcutter moved quickly, and all Adam could do stayed. Above their heads, the clouds briefly parted and the moon appeared. It was very red, like a big hole in the skin of the night. The lumberjack picked up the pace, his long strides eating away at the forest floor.

"We must hurry," he said. "They will come soon."

And as he spoke there came a loud howl from the north, and the woodcutter began to run.

Chapter 8

Of wolves and worse-than-wolves

The forest passed in a veil of gray and brown and fading winter green.

Briars tore at the lumberjack's jacket and pants from Adam's pajamas, and on more than one occasion Adam had to duck to keep his face from being raked by tall bushes. The howling had stopped, but the woodcutter hadn't slowed his pace, not for a moment. He didn't speak either, so Adam was silent too. However, he was afraid. He tried to look back over his shoulder once, but the effort almost made him lose his balance and he didn't try again.

They were still deep in the forest when the woodcutter stopped and seemed to be listening. Adam almost asked him what was wrong, but then changed his mind and remained silent while trying to hear what had caused the woodcutter to stop. The back of his neck prickled as his hair stood on end, and he was sure they were being watched. Then he faintly heard the rustle of leaves to his right and the snap of twigs to his left. There was movement behind them, as if beings in the undergrowth were trying to approach them as quietly as possible.

"Hold on tight," said the woodcutter. "Almost there."

It sprinted to the right, leaving the plain ground and bursting through a thicket of ferns, and immediately Adam heard the forest erupt in noise behind them as the pursuit resumed in earnest. A cut opened up on his hand, blood dripped onto the floor, and a large hole was torn in his pajamas from knee to ankle.

He lost a slipper and the night air gnawed at his bare toes. His fingers ached from the cold and the effort of holding the woodcutter, but he didn't loosen his grip. They drove through another clump of bushes and were now on a bumpy path that wound down a slope to what appeared to be a garden beyond. Adam looked behind him and thought he saw two bright spheres shimmering in the moonlight and a patch of thick gray fur.

"Don't look back," said the woodcutter. "Whatever you do, don't look back."

Adam looked ahead again. He was horrified and now regrets very much that he had followed his mother's voice to this place. He was just a boy wearing pajamas, slippers, and an old blue dressing gown under a stranger's jacket, and he didn't belong anywhere but in his own bedroom.

Now the trees were thinning, and Adam and the woodcutter emerged onto a patch of lovingly tended land, rows and rows of vegetables sown. In front of them was the strangest cottage Adam had ever seen, surrounded by a low wooden fence. The dwelling was built of logs hewn from the forest, with a door in the middle, a window on either side, and a sloping roof with a stone chimney at one end, but that was where any resemblance to a normal cottage ended. Its silhouette against the night sky was like that of a hedgehog, for it was covered with spikes of wood and metal where sharpened sticks and iron bars had been stuck between or through the tree trunks. as they got closer Adam could also make out broken glass and sharp stones in the walls and even on the roof, making it shimmer like diamonds in the moonlight. The windows were heavily barred, and large nails had been driven through the door from the inside, so a violent fall against it would mean immediate impaling. This wasn't a hut: this was a fortress.

They went through the fence and were nearing the safety of the house when a figure appeared from behind the walls and walked toward them. It resembled a large wolf in shape, except that it wore an ornate shirt of white and gold on the upper body and bright red trousers on the lower half. And then, as Adam watched, it was purple on its hind legs and standing like a human, and it became clear that this was more than an animal, for its ears were roughly human in shape, though tipped with hair at the tips were, and its snout was shorter than that of a wolf. His lips were drawn back from his fangs and he growled at them in warning, but in his eyes the struggle between wolf and man was clearest. Those weren't animal eyes. They were smart but also confident

Other similar creatures were now emerging from the forest, some wearing clothing, mostly torn jackets and torn pants, and they also rose up purple and stood on their hind legs, but there were many more that were just like common wolves.

They were smaller and kept on all fours, looking wild and unthinking to Adam. It was those who bore the marks of humans that frightened Adam the most.

The woodcutter lowered Adam to the ground. "Stay close to me," he said. "If anything happens, run to the cottage."

He patted Adam on the lower back and Adam felt something fall into his jacket pocket. As discreetly as he could, he slid his hand toward his bag and tried to pretend it was the cold that made him seek comfort. He put his hand inside and felt the shape of a large iron key. Adam closed his fist on it and held it tight as if his life depended on it, which he was beginning to realize might very well have been the case.

The wolf man by the house was staring at Adam intently, and his gaze was so terrifying that Adam was forced to look down, down the back of the woodcutter's neck, anywhere but those eyes, which were both familiar and unfamiliar. The wolf man touched one of the spikes on the walls of the hut with one long claw, as if testing his power for harm, and then he spoke. His voice was low and low and full of spit and growls, but Adam could clearly hear every word he said.

"I see you've been busy, Lumberjack," it said. "You have fortified your hiding place."

"The forest is changing," replied the woodcutter. "There are strange creatures abroad."

He shifted the ax in his hands to get a better grip on it. If the wolf man noticed the implied threat, he didn't show it. Instead, he just growled in agreement, as if he and the woodcutter were neighbors whose paths had unexpectedly crossed on a walk in the woods.

"The whole country is changing," said the wolf man. "The old king can no longer control his kingdom."

"I'm not smart enough to judge such things," said the woodcutter. "I have never met the king, and he consults me not in the care of his kingdom."

"Perhaps he should," said the wolf man. He almost seemed to be smiling, except it didn't express friendliness. “After all, you treat these forests as if they were your own kingdom. You should not forget that there are others who would contest your right to govern them.”

"I treat all living beings in this place with the respect they deserve, but it is in the order of things that man should reign supreme."

"Then perhaps it is time for a new order to arise," said the wolf man.

"And what order would that be?" asked the woodcutter. Adam could hear mockery in his tone. "An order of wolves, of beasts of prey? The fact that you walk on hind legs doesn't make you a man, and the fact that you have gold in your ears doesn't make you a king."

"There are many kingdoms that could exist, and many kings," said the wolf-man.

"You will not rule here," said the woodcutter. "If you try, I will kill you and all your brothers and sisters."

The wolf man. opened his mouth and growled. Adam trembled, but the woodcutter didn't move an inch.

"It seems that you have already begun. Was that your handiwork in the forest?” asked the wolf man., almost unconcerned.

"These are my woods. My handwork is all over them.”

"I am referring to the corpse of poor Ferdinand, my scout. He seems to have lost his head."

"Was that his name? I never had the opportunity to ask. He was too intent on tearing my throat for us to engage in idle chatter.”

The wolf man. licked his lips. "He was hungry," he said. "We're all hungry"

His eyes darted from the woodcutter to Adam, as they had for most of the conversation, but this time they lingered on the boy a little longer.

"His appetite will no longer bother him," said the woodcutter. "I relieved him of their burden."

But Ferdinand was forgotten. The wolf man's attention was now fully focused on Adam.

"And what have you found in your travels?" said the wolf man. "It seems you have discovered a strange creature, new flesh from the forest."

A long, thin thread of saliva dripped from its snout as it spoke. The woodcutter placed a protective hand on Adam's shoulder and pulled him closer while his right hand held the ax steady.

"This is my brother's son. He came to stay with me.”

The wolf fell to all fours and the hairs on the back of his neck rose purple. It sniffed the air.

"You lie!" it growled. "You have no brother, no family. You live alone in this place, and you always have. This is not a child of our country. He brings new scents with him. He is different."

"He is mine and I am his guardian," said the woodcutter.

"There was a fire in the forest. Something strange was burning there. Did it come with him?”

"I don't know anything about it."

"If you don't, maybe the boy will, and he can explain to us where that came from."

The wolf-man nodded to one of his companions, and a dark shape flew through the air and landed near Adam.

It was the German gunner's head, all cinder black and charred red. His flight helmet had fused to his scalp and once again Adam saw his teeth, still caught in their death grimace.

"He ate little," said the wolf man. "It tasted of ash and sour."

"Man does not eat man," said the woodcutter in disgust. "You have shown your true nature through your actions."

The wolf man. crouched, his front paws almost touching the ground.

"You can't protect the boy. Others will find out about him. Give him to us and we will offer him the protection of the pack.”

But the wolf man's eyes belied his words, for everything about the beast spoke of hunger and want. His ribs protruded from his gray fur, showing beneath the white of his shirt, and his limbs were thin. The others were also starving.

They were slowly approaching Adam and the woodcutter now, unable to resist the promise of food.

Suddenly there was a blur of movement to the right, and one of the lesser wolves, overwhelmed by its appetite, sprang. The woodcutter spun around, the ax purple, and there was a single sharp cry before the wolf fell dead to the ground, his head almost severed from his body. A howl of a violet from the assembled pack, the wolves wriggling and writhing in excitement and despair. The wolf man. stared at the fallen animal and then turned on the woodcutter, every sharp tooth in his mouth showing, every hair on his back standing up. Adam thought that surely it had to fall on them and then the rest would follow and they would be torn apart, but instead the side of the creature that bore marks of something human seemed to overcome the animal half,

Violet got back on her hind legs and shook her head. "I warned them to keep their distance, but they are starving," it said. “There are new enemies and new predators competing with us for food. Still, this one wasn't like us, Lumberjack. We are not animals. These others cannot control their urges.”

The woodcutter and Adam walked toward the cottage, trying to get closer to the promise of security it offered.

"Make no mistake, beast," said the woodcutter. “There is no 'us'. I have more in common with the leaves on the trees and the dirt on the ground than with you and your kind.”

Some of the wolves had already advanced and were beginning to feed on their fallen comrade, but not those wearing clothes. They eyed the corpse longingly, but like their leader, tried to maintain some semblance of self-control. However, it didn't go deep. Adam could see their nostrils twitching at the smell of blood, and he was sure the wolf men would have torn him to pieces by now if the woodcutter hadn't been there to protect him. The lesser wolves were cannibals, content to feed on their own kind, but the appetites of those who resembled men were far worse than those of the rest.

The wolf man. pondered the woodcutter's answer. Masked by the lumberjack's body, Adam had already taken the key from his pocket and was preparing to put it in the lock.

"If there is no bond between us," it said thoughtfully, "then my conscience is clear."

It looked at the assembled pack and howled.

"It's time," it growled, "to eat."

Adam put the key in the hole and began turning it just as the wolf man. fell to all fours, his body tensed and ready to pounce.

A sudden cry of warning came from one of the wolves at the edge of the forest.

The animal turned to face a still-unseen threat, drawing the attention of the rest of the pack, distracting even their leader for crucial seconds.

Adam risked a look and saw a figure moving against a tree trunk, coiling around him like a snake. The wolf backed away from it and whimpered softly. While he was distracted, a piece of green ivy rose from a low branch and wrapped itself around the wolf's neck. It clung tightly to the fur and then yanked the wolf into the air, the animal kicking its legs in vain as it began to choke.

Now the whole forest seemed to come alive in a whirl of tangled green strands, tendrils twining around legs, snouts and throats, yanking wolves and wolf men into the air or tying them to the ground and tightening around them until all fighting stopped. The wolves immediately began to fight back, snapping and snarling, but they were powerless against a foe like this, and those who could were already attempting to retreat. Adam felt the key turn in the lock as the pack leader's head jerked back and forth, torn between his need for flesh and his need for survival. Ivy was moving in his direction now, crawling across the damp soil of the vegetable patch. It quickly had to choose between fight and flight.

Chapter 9

About the Loups and how they came about

Adam walked to one of the barred windows when a warm orange light crept through the little cottage. The woodcutter had made sure the door was securely bolted and the wolves had fled before he stacked logs in the stone hearth and prepared the fire. If what had happened outside worried him, he didn't show it. In fact, he seemed remarkably calm, and some of that calm had spread to Adam. He should have been scared, even traumatized. After all, he had been menaced by talking wolves, witnessed an attack by live ivy, and the charred head of a German airman had landed at his feet, half-gnawed by sharp teeth.

Instead, he was just confused and more than a little curious.

Adam's fingers and toes tingled. His nose began to run in the growing heat and he took off the woodcutter's jacket. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his robe and then felt a little ashamed. The robe, now looking decidedly self-pitying, was the only piece of outer clothing he owned, and it seemed unwise to add anything to his current state of decay. In addition to the dress, he had one slipper, a pair of torn, muddy pajama bottoms, and a pajama shirt that was almost new compared to the other clothes.

The window he was standing at had been blocked by indoor shutters behind the bars, with a narrow horizontal slit through which those inside could see out. Through the gap he saw the carcasses of wolves being dragged into the forest, some leaving trails of blood.

"They're getting bolder and cunning, and that makes them harder to kill," said the woodcutter. He had joined Adam at the window. "A year ago they would not have risked such an attack on me or anyone under my protection, but now there are more of them than ever and their numbers are growing with each passing day. Soon they may try to fulfill their promise to take the kingdom.”

"The ivy attacked them," Adam said. He still couldn't quite believe what he had seen.

"The forest, or at least this forest, has ways of protecting itself," said the lumberjack. "These beasts are unnatural, a threat to the order of things. The forest doesn't want any part of them. I think it has to do with the king and the waning of his powers. This world is falling apart and it's getting stranger every day.

The Loups are the most dangerous creatures ever created, as they contain the worst of humans and beasts fighting for supremacy.”

"Loups?" said Adam. "Is that what you call these wolf things?"

"They are not wolves, although wolves run with them. Nor are they human, though they walk on two legs when it suits them, and their leader adorns himself with jewels and fine clothes. He calls himself Lobo and is as intelligent as he is ambitious and as cunning as he is cruel. Now he would be at war with the king.

I hear tales of travelers through these woods. They speak of great packs of wolves roaming the land, white wolves from the north and black wolves from the east, all following the call of their brothers the Grays and their leaders the Loups.”

And while Adam sat by the fire, the woodcutter told him a story.

The first story of the woodcutter

Once upon a time there was a girl who lived on the edge of the forest. She was lively and bright and she wore a red cloak so she could be easily found if she got lost as a red cloak would always stand out against the trees and bushes. As the years went by and she became more a woman than a girl, she became more and more beautiful. Many men wanted her as a bride, but she turned them all down. None was good enough for her because she was smarter than any man she met and they were no challenge for her.

Her grandmother lived in a hut in the forest, and the girl often visited her, bringing her baskets of bread and meat and staying with her for a while.

While her grandmother slept, the girl in red wandered among the trees, tasting the wild berries and strange fruits of the forest. One day as she was walking through a dark grove, a wolf came. It was suspicious of her and tried to pass unseen, but the girl's senses were too acute. She saw the wolf, looked into his eyes and fell in love with his strangeness. When it turned away, she followed it, going deeper into the forest than ever before. The wolf tried to lose her in places where there were no tracks, no paths to be seen, but the girl was too quick for that, and mile after mile the hunt went on. Eventually the wolf got tired of the pursuit and turned to face her. It bared its fangs and growled a warning, but she wasn't afraid.

"Beautiful wolf," she whispered. "You have nothing to fear from me."

She reached out and placed her hand on the wolf's head. She ran her fingers through its fur, calming it down. And the wolf saw what beautiful eyes she had (the better to see him) and what gentle hands (the better to caress him) and what soft red lips (the better to taste him). The girl leaned forward and kissed the wolf. She took off her red cloak and put her flower basket aside and lay down with the animal. From their union emerged a creature that was more human than wolf. He was the first of the Loups to be called Lobo, and others followed him. Other women came, lured by the girl in the red cloak. She wandered the forest paths, enticing those who met her with promises of ripe, juicy berries and spring water so pure

But some went voluntarily, because there are women who dream of lying with wolves.

None were ever seen again, for over time the Loups turned against those who created them and fed on them in the moonlight.

And that's how the Loups came about.

When his story was finished, the woodcutter went to an oak chest in the corner by the bed and found a shirt that would fit Adam, as well as pants that were just a tad too long and shoes that were just a tad too long too loose, although adding an extra pair of coarse wool socks made them wearable. The shoes were leather and had obviously not been worn for many years. Adam wondered where they had come from, as they had obviously once belonged to a child, but when he tried to ask the woodcutter about them, he simply turned away and busied himself with laying out bread and cheese for them to eat.

As they ate, the woodcutter questioned Adam more about how he came to enter the forest and the world he left behind. There was so much to talk about, but the woodcutter seemed less interested in talking about war and flying machines than he was in Adam and his family and his mother's story.

"You say you heard her voice," he said. "Nevertheless she's dead, how can that be?"

"I don't know," Adam said. "But she was. I know it was."

The woodcutter looked doubtful. "I haven't seen a woman walking through the woods for a long time. If she is here, she has found a different way into this world.”

In return, the lumberjack told Adam a lot about the place where he was now. He spoke of the king who had reigned for a very long time but had lost control of his kingdom as he grew old and tired and was now practically a hermit in his castle to the east. He spoke more of the Loups and their desire to rule like men over others, and of new castles that had appeared in distant parts of the kingdom, dark places of hidden evil.

And he spoke of a deceiver who had no name and was different from all other creatures in the kingdom, for even the king feared him.

"Is he a dishonest man?" Adam asked suddenly. "Is he wearing a crooked hat?"

The woodcutter stopped chewing his bread. "And how do you know that?" he said.

"I saw him," Adam said. "He was in my bedroom."

"That is him," said the Lumberjack. "He steals children, and they are never seen again."

And there was something so sad and yet so angry about the way the Lumberjack spoke of the Dishonest Man that Adam wondered if Lobo, the leader of the Loups, was wrong. Perhaps the Lumberjack had had a family, once, but something very bad had happened and now he was entirely alone.

Chapter 10

Of Tricksters and Trickery

Adam SLEPT that night upon the Lumberjack's bed. It smelled of dried berries and pine cones and the animal scent of the Lumberjack's leathers and furs. The Lumberjack dozed in a chair by the fire, his ax close to hand and his face cast in flickering shadows by the light of the dying flames.

It took Adam a long time to get to sleep, even though the Lumberjack assured him that the cottage was secure. The slits in the windows had been covered up, and there was even a metal plate, pierced with small holes, set halfway up the chimney to prevent the creatures of the forest from entering that way. The woods beyond were silent, but it was not the quiet of peace and rest. The Lumberjack had told Adam that the forest changed at night: half-formed creatures, beings from deep beneath the ground, colonized it once the half-light faded, and most of the nocturnal animals were dead or had learned to be even warier of predation than before

The boy was aware of a strange mixture of feelings. There was fear, of course, and an aching regret that he had ever been foolish enough to leave the security of his own home and enter this new world. He wanted to return to the life he knew, however difficult it might be, but he also wanted to see a little more of this land, and he had not yet found an explanation for the sound of his mother's voice. Was this what happened to the dead? Did they travel into this land, perhaps on the way to another place? Was his mother trapped here? Could a mistake have been made?

Maybe she wasn't meant to die, and now she was trying to hold on here in the hope that someone would find her and bring her back to those whom she loved.

No, Adam could not return, not yet. The tree was marked, and he would find his way home, once he had discovered the truth about his mother and the part of this world now played in her existence.

He wondered if his father had missed him yet, and thought made his eyes water. The impact of the German plane would have woken everyone, and the garden was probably already sealed off by the army or the ARP. Adam's absence would have been quickly noticed. They would be looking for him at this very moment. He felt a kind of satisfaction in the knowledge that, by his absence, he had made himself more important in his father's life. Now perhaps his dad would be worried more about him and less about work and codes and Violet and Tommie.

But what if they didn't miss him? What if life became easier for them now that he was gone? His father and Violet could start a new family, untroubled by the remnant of the old, except once a year, perhaps, when the anniversary of his disappearance came around. In time, though, even that would fade, and then he would be largely forgotten, remembered only in passing, just as the memory of Violet's uncle, Joseph Redford, had been resurrected only by Adam's own questions about him.

Adam tried to push such thoughts aside and closed his eyes. At last he fell asleep, and he dreamed of his father, and of Violet and his new half brother, and of things that burrowed up from beneath the earth, waiting for the fears of others to give them shape.

And in the dark corners of his dreams, a shadow capered, and it threw its crooked hat in the air with glee.

Adam woke to the sound of the Lumberjack preparing food. They ate hard white bread at the little table by the far wall and drank strong black tea from crudely made mugs. Outside, only the finest trace of light showed in the sky. Adam assumed that it was very early in the morning indeed, so early that the sun had not yet dawned, but the Lumberjack said the sun had not been truly visible for a very long time and this was as much light as was ever seen in the world. It made Adam wonder if he had somehow traveled far to the north, to a place where night lasted for months and months in winter, but even in the Arctic north the long, dark winters were balanced by days of endless light in summer. No, this was no northern land. This was Elsewhere.

After they had eaten, Adam washed his face and hands in a bowl and tried to clean his teeth with his finger. When he had finished, he performed his little rituals of touching and counting, and it was only when he became aware of a silence in the room that he realized the lumberjack was watching him quietly from his chair.

"What are you doing?" asked the lumberjack.

It was the first time that the question had ever been posed to Adam, and he was stumped for a moment as he tried to provide a plausible excuse for his behavior.

In the end, he settled on the truth.

"They're rules," he said simply. “They're my routines. I started doing them to try to keep my mother from harm. I thought they would help."

"And did they?"

Adam shook his head. “No, I don't think so. Or maybe they did, but just not enough. I suppose you think they're strange. I suppose you think I'm strange for doing them."

He was afraid to look at the Lumberjack, fearful of what he might see in the man's eyes. Instead he stared into the bowl and saw his reflection distorted upon the water.

Eventually the Lumberjack spoke. "We all have our routines," he said softly. "But they must have a purpose and provide an outcome that we can see and take some comfort from, or else they have no use at all. Without that, they are like the endless pacing of a caged animal. If they are not madness itself, then they are a prelude to it.”

The Lumberjack stood and showed Adam his ax. "See here," he said, pointing with his finger at the blade. “Every morning, I make certain that my ax is clean and keen. I look to my house and check that its windows and doors remain secure.

I tend to my land, disposing of weeds and ensuring that the soil is watered. I walk through the forest, clearing those paths that need to be kept open. Where trees have been damaged, I do my best to repair what has been harmed. These are my routines, and I enjoy doing them well.”

He laid a hand gently on Adam's shoulder, and Adam saw understanding in his face. “Rules and routines are good, but they must give you satisfaction. Can you truly say you gain that from touching and counting?”

Adam shook his head. "No," he said, "but I get scared when I don't do them. I'm afraid of what might happen."

“Then find routines that allow you to feel secure when they are done. You told me that you have a new brother: look to him each morning. Look to your father, and your stepmother. Tend to the flowers in the garden, or in the pots upon the windowsill. Seek others who are weaker than you are, and try to give them comfort where you can. Let these be your routines, and the rules that govern your life."

Adam nodded, but he turned his face from the Lumberjack's to hide what might be read upon it. Perhaps the Lumberjack was right, but Adam could not bring himself to do those things for Tommie and Violet. He would try to take on some other, easier duties, but to keep safe these intruders into his life was beyond him.

The Lumberjack took Adam's old clothes—his torn dressing gown, his dirty pajamas, his single muddy slipper—and placed them in a rough sack. He slung the sack over his shoulder and unlocked the door.

"Where are we going?" said Adam.

"We're going to return you to your own land," said the Lumberjack.

"But the hole in the tree disappeared."

"Then we will try to make it appear again."

"But I haven't found my mother," said Adam.

The Lumberjack looked at him sadly. “Your mother is dead. You told me so yourself.”

“But I heard her! I heard her voice."

"Perhaps, or something like it," said the Lumberjack. “I don't pretend to know every secret of this land, but I can tell you that it is a dangerous place, and becoming more so with every day that passes. You must go back. The Loup Lobo was right about one thing: I can't protect you. I can barely protect myself. Now come: this is a good time to travel, for the night beasts are in their deepest sleep, and the worst of the daylight ones are not yet awake."

So Adam, perceiving that he had little choice in the matter, followed the Lumberjack from the cottage and into the forest. Time and again the Lumberjack would stop and listen, his hand raised as a signal to Adam that he should remain silent and still.

“Where are the Loups and the wolves?” Adam asked eventually, after they had walked for perhaps an hour. The only signs of life that he had seen were birds and insects.

"Not far away, I fear," replied the Lumberjack. “They will scavenge for food in other parts of the forest, where they are less at risk of attack, and in time they will try once again to steal you away. That is why you must leave here before they return."

Adam shuddered at the thought of Lobo and his wolves pouncing on him, tearing at his flesh with their jaws and claws. He was beginning to realize what it would cost to search this place for his mother, but it seemed like the decision to return home had already been made for him, at least for the moment. He could always come back here if he wanted to. After all, the sunken garden remained, assuming the German plane hadn't completely destroyed it when it crashed.

They came to the clearing of giant trees through which he had first entered the world of the woodcutter. When they got there, the woodcutter stopped so suddenly that Adam almost bumped into him. Cautiously, he peered around the man's back to see what had caused him to stop.

"Oh no," Adam gasped.

Every tree as far as the eye could see was marked with twine, and each twine, Adam's nose told him, was smeared with the same foul-smelling substance the woodcutter had used to keep the animals from gnawing on it. There was no way of telling which tree was the one that marked the door from Adam's world to this one. He walked a little farther, trying to find the hollow he had come out of, but every tree was similar, every bark smooth. Apparently even the hollows and knots that made them distinctive had been filled in or altered, and the little path that had once wound through the forest was now completely gone, leaving the woodcutter with no orientation to follow. Even the wreck of the German bomber was nowhere to be seen, and the furrow which it had dug into the earth had been filled up. It must have taken hundreds of hours and the labor of many, many hands to achieve such a goal, Adam thought. How could this have happened in a single night without even leaving a footprint on the floor?

"Who would do such a thing?" he asked.

"A trickster," said the woodcutter. "A dishonest man with a crooked hat."

"But why?" said Adam. "Why didn't he just take away the string you tied? Wouldn't that have worked just as well?”

The woodcutter thought for a moment before answering. "Yes," he said, "but it wouldn't have been as amusing to him and it wouldn't have made such a good story."

"A story?" asked Adam. "Whatever you mean?"

"You are part of a story," said the woodcutter. “He likes to make up stories. He likes to collect stories to tell. It makes a very good story.”

"But how do I get home?" Adam asked. Now that there was no way for him to return to his own world, he suddenly wanted very much to be there, while Adam, when it seemed as if the woodcutter was trying to force him to return against his will, didn't want anything anymore, than to stay at home the new country and looking for his mother. It was all very peculiar.

"He doesn't want you to come home," said the woodcutter.

"I never did anything to him," Adam said. "Why is he trying to keep me here? Why is he so mean?”

The lumberjack shook his head. "I don't know," he said.

"Then who does it?" said Adam. He almost screamed in frustration. He began to wish there was someone who knew a little more than the woodcutter.

The lumberjack was fine beheading wolves and giving unwanted advice, but he didn't seem to be keeping up with developments in the kingdom.

"The king," said the woodcutter at last. "The king might know."

"But I thought you told me he's out of control, that no one has seen him for a long time."

"That doesn't mean he doesn't know what's happening," said the woodcutter.

"They say the king has a book, a book of lost things. It is his most prized possession. He keeps it hidden in the throne room of his palace, and no one but he is allowed to see it. I have heard that it contains within its pages all the king's knowledge, and that in time of need or doubt he turns to it for guidance. Maybe there is an answer to the question of how to get home.”

Adam tried to read the look on the woodcutter's face. He wasn't sure why, but he had a strong feeling that the woodcutter wasn't telling him the whole truth about the king. Before he could question him further, the woodcutter threw the sack containing Adam's old clothes into a bush and started back the way they had come.

"It will be one less thing we need to continue on our journey," he said. "We have a long way to go."

With one last, longing look at the forest of anonymous trees, Adam turned and followed the woodcutter back to the cottage.

When they were gone and all was quiet, a figure emerged from under the spreading roots of a large and old tree. Its back was arched, its fingers twisted, and it wore a crooked hat on its head. It moved swiftly through the undergrowth until it came to a bush littered with swollen, frost-sweetened berries, but it ignored the fruit in favor of the rough, dirty sack that lay between the leaves. It reached inside and pulled off the top of Adam's pajamas and held the clothing to its face while sniffing deeply.

"Boy lost," it whispered to itself, "and child lost to come."

And with that, it grabbed the sack and was swallowed up by the shadows of the forest.

Chapter 11

Of the children lost in the forest and what happened to them

Adam AND THE Lumberjack returned to the cottage without incident. There they packed food into two leather bags and filled a pair of tin canteens from the stream that ran behind the house. Adam saw the Lumberjack kneel by the water's edge and examine some marks upon the damp ground, but he said nothing to Adam about them. Adam glanced at them in passing and thought that they looked like the tracks left by a big dog, or a wolf. There was a little water at the bottom of each, so Adam knew that they were recent.

The Lumberjack armed himself with his axe, a bow and a quiver of arrows, and a long knife. Finally, he took a short-bladed sword from a storage chest. After only the slightest pause to blow some of the dust from it, he gave the sword to Adam, and a leather belt upon which to wear it. Adam had never held a real sword before, and his knowledge of swordsmanship did not extend much further than playing pirates with wooden sticks, but having the sword at his side made him feel stronger and a little braver.

The Lumberjack locked the cottage, then laid his hand flat upon the door, and lowered his head, as though praying. He looked sad, and Adam wondered if, for some reason, the Lumberjack thought that he might not see his home again. Then they moved into the forest, heading northeast, and kept up a steady pace while the sickly luminescence that passed for daylight lit their way. After a few hours, Adam grew very tired. The Lumberjack allowed him to rest, but only for a little while.

"We must be clear of the woods before nightfall," he told Adam, and the boy did not have to ask him why. Already he feared to hear the silence of the woods shattered by the howling of wolves and loups.

As they walked, Adam had a chance to examine his surroundings. He could not name any of the trees he saw, although some aspects were familiar to him. A tree that looked like an old oak tree had pine cones dangling beneath its evergreen leaves. Another was the size and shape of a large Christmas tree, its silver leaves covered with clusters of red berries. However, most of the trees were bare. Occasionally Adam would catch glimpses of some of the childlike flowers with wide and curious eyes, though at the first sign of the approaching woodcutter and boy they would curl their leaves protectively and tremble gently until the threat passed.

"What are these flowers called?" he asked.

"They have no name," said the woodcutter. “Sometimes children go off track, get lost in the woods and are never seen again. There they die, eaten by beasts or slain by evil men, and their blood seeps into the ground. In time, one of these flowers will sprout, often far from where the child drew its last breath. They huddle together, just like frightened children. They're the forest way of remembering them I guess. The forest feels the loss of a child.”

Adam had learned that the woodcutter would not generally speak unless spoken to first, so he was left to ask questions, which the woodcutter would answer as best he could. He tried to give Adam an idea of??the geography of the place: the king's castle was many miles to the east, and the area in between was sparsely populated, with only occasional settlements disturbing the landscape. A deep gorge separated the logging forest from the lands further east, and they would have to cross it to continue their journey to the king's castle. To the south was a great black sea, but few ever ventured far upon it. It was the domain of sea creatures, water dragons, and was constantly battered by storms and huge waves. To the north and west lay mountain ranges,

As they walked, the woodcutter talked more to Adam from the Loups. "In the past, before the arrival of the Loups, wolves were predictable creatures," he explained. "Each pack, which rarely numbered more than fifteen or twenty wolves, had a territory in which to live, hunt, and breed. Then the Loups showed up and everything changed. The packs began to grow; loyalties were formed; Territories grew or lost their importance; and cruelty lifted its head. In the past, perhaps half of all wolf pups died. They needed more food than their parents for their size, and when food was scarce, they starved.

Sometimes they were killed by their own parents, but only when they showed signs of sickness or insanity. For the most part, wolves were good parents, sharing their prey with their young, guarding them, giving them care and affection.

“But the Loups brought a new way of handling the young: only the strongest are now fed, never more than two or three per litter, and sometimes not even that. The weak are eaten. In this way the pack itself remains strong, but it has changed its nature. Now they turn against each other and there is no loyalty between them. Only the rule of the Loups keeps them under control. Without the Loups they would be what they used to be, I think.”

The woodcutter told Adam how to tell the females from the males. The females had narrower snouts and foreheads. Their necks and shoulders were thinner, their legs shorter, yet they were faster than males of the same age when young, making them better hunters and deadlier enemies. In normal wolf packs, the females were often the leaders, but once again the loups had usurped this natural order of things. There were women among them, but it was Lobo and his lieutenants who made the important decisions. Perhaps that was one of their weaknesses, the woodcutter suggested. Their arrogance had led them to turn their backs on the millennia-old feminine instinct. Now they were driven only by lust for power.

"Wolves don't give up their prey," said the woodcutter, "unless they're exhausted. They can run ten or fifteen miles at a speed much faster than a human and trot five more miles before needing a rest. The Loups have slowed them down a bit, because they prefer to walk on two legs and aren't as quick as they used to be, but we still can't keep up with them on foot. We must hope that by the time we reach our destination tonight, there will be horses to be found. There is a man who trades it and I have enough gold to buy us a mount.”

There were no tracks to follow. Instead, they relied on the woodcutter's knowledge of the forest, although the farther they got from his home, he stopped more often to examine moss growth and the shapes the wind had carved in the trees to blow himself away convince them that they hadn't strayed there. In all the time they passed only one other dwelling, and it lay in brown rubble. It seemed to Adam to have melted rather than decayed, and only its stone chimney remained, blackened but intact. He could see where molten drips on the walls had cooled and hardened, and the dented spaces where the windows had collapsed. The path they took brought him close enough to touch the structure, and now it was clear that there were chunks of a light brown substance embedded in the walls. He rubbed his hand on the door frame and then pounded it away with a nail. He recognized the texture and faint scent of a violet.

"It's chocolate," he exclaimed. "And gingerbread."

He broke off a larger piece and was about to taste it when the woodcutter knocked it out of his hand.

"No," he said. "It may look and smell sweet, but it hides its own poison."

And he told Adam a different story.

The second story of the woodcutter

Once upon a time there were two children, a boy and a girl. Her father died and her mother remarried, but her stepfather was a wicked man. He hated the children and resented their presence in his home. He despised them even more when the harvest failed and famine came, for they ate valuable food, food he would rather have kept for himself. He begrudged them every meager morsel he had to give them, and as his own hunger grew he began to suggest to his wife that they could eat the children and thereby save themselves from death, since she could always bear more children than they could times improved. His wife was horrified and feared what her new husband might do to them if she turned his back on them. But she realized she couldn't afford it anymore

The children were very scared and cried themselves to sleep the first night, but over time they came to understand the forest. The girl was smarter and stronger than her brother, and it was she who learned to catch small animals and birds and steal eggs from nests. The boy preferred to wander around or dream and wait for his sister to provide whatever she could catch to feed them both. He missed his mother and wanted to return to her. Some days he did nothing but cry from morning to night. He wished his old life back and made no effort to embrace the new.

One day he didn't come back when his sister called his name. She went in search of him, leaving a trail of flowers to help her find her way back to what little food she had, until she came to the edge of a small clearing, and there she saw the Most Extraordinary House. Its walls were made of chocolate and gingerbread. The roof was covered with toffee tiles and the glass in the windows was clear sugar. Embedded in its walls were almonds and caramel and candied fruit. Everything about it spoke of sweetness and indulgence. Her brother was picking nuts off the walls when she found him and his mouth was dark with chocolate.

"Don't worry, there's nobody home," he said. "Try it. It's delicious."

He held out a piece of chocolate to her, but she didn't take it at first. Herb brother's eyelids were half closed, so overwhelmed was he by the wonderful taste of the house. His sister tried to open the door but it was locked. She peered through the glass, but the curtains were drawn and she couldn't see inside. She didn't want to eat because something about the house was making her uneasy, but the smell of chocolate was too much for her and she allowed herself to nibble on a piece. It tasted even better than she imagined, and her stomach craved more. So she joined her brother, and together they ate and ate until they had eaten so much that in time they fell into a deep sleep.

When they woke up, they were no longer lying on the grass under the trees of the forest. Instead, they were indoors, trapped in a cage suspended from the ceiling. A woman fueled a stove with logs. She was old and smelled.

Piles of bones lay on the ground by her feet, the remains of the other children she had killed.

"Fresh Meat!" she whispered to herself. "Fresh meat for the old Gammer oven!"

The little boy started crying, but his sister silenced him. The woman came over to them and peered at them through the bars of the cage. Her face was covered with black warts and her teeth were worn and crooked like old tombstones.

"Well, which one of you will be first?" she asked.

The boy tried to hide his face as if that would avoid the old woman's attention. But his sister was braver.

"Take me," she said. "I'm fatter than my brother and I'll make you a better roast. While you are eating me you can fatten it up so that it will feed you longer if you cook it.”

The old woman cackled with delight.

"Smart girl," she called out. "Not smart enough to dodge Gammer's plate though."

She opened the cage and reached in, grabbed the girl by the neck and pulled her out. Then she locked the cage again and took the girl to the stove. It wasn't hot enough yet, but it would be soon.

"I'll never fit in there," said the girl. "It's too small."

"Nonsense," said the old woman. "I've put in bigger ones than you, and they cooked quite well."

The girl looked doubtful. “But I have long limbs and fat on them. No, I'll never make it into that oven. And if you squeeze me in, you'll never get me out."

The old woman took the girl by the shoulders and shook her. "I was wrong about you," she said. “You are an ignorant, stupid girl. Look, I'll show you how big this oven is."

She climbed up and stuck her head and shoulders into the opening of the oven.

"See?" she said, her voice echoing in it. "There's still room for me, let alone a girl like you."

The little girl ran towards them and with one big push pushed them into the oven and slammed the door. The old woman tried to push it open again, but the girl was too quick for her, slammed the bolt in (for the old woman didn't want a child to get free once the roasting had started) and left her trapped inside.

Then she fed the fire with more logs and slowly the old woman began to cook, all the while screaming and wailing and threatening the girl with the most terrible torments. The oven was so hot that the fats on her body began to melt, creating such a terrible stench that the little girl felt nauseous. Still the old woman struggled, even as her skin peeled from her flesh and her flesh from her bones, until finally she died.

Then the little girl got wood from the fire and scattered burning logs around the hut. She led her brother away by the hand as the house melted behind them and only the chimney stood up, and they never went back there.

In the months that followed, the girl became happier in the woods. She built a shelter, and over time the shelter grew into a small house. She was learning to take care of herself and as the days went by she thought less and less about her old life. But her brother was never happy and always longed to be with his mother again.

After a year and a day he left his sister and returned to his old home, but by that time his mother and stepfather were long gone and no one could tell him where they were. He came back to the forest but not to his sister because he was jealous and angry with her. Instead he found a path in the forest that was well manicured and cleared of roots and thorns, the bushes beside it thick with juicy berries. He followed, eating some of the berries as he walked, not noticing that the trail behind him was disappearing with every step he took.

And after a while he came to a clearing and in the clearing was a pretty little house with ivy on the walls and flowers by the door and a plume of smoke rising from its chimney. He smelled bread baking and a cake lay cool on the windowsill. A woman appeared at the door, radiant and cheerful as his mother had once been. She waved at him and invited him to come over and he did.

"Come in, come in," she said. "You look tired and berries are not enough to feed a growing boy. I have food to roast over the fire and a soft place for you to rest.

Stay as long as you like as I have no children and have long wanted a son to call my own.”

The boy tossed the berries aside as the trail vanished forever behind him, and he followed the woman into the house, where a cauldron bubbling on the fire and a sharp knife awaited on the butcher's block.

And he was never seen again.

Chapter 12

About bridges and riddles and the many unsympathetic ones Characteristics of trolls

THE LIGHT changed when the story of the woodcutter ended. He looked up at the sky, as if hoping the darkness could be held back a little longer, and suddenly he stopped. Adam followed his gaze. Above their heads, just level with the forest canopy, Adam saw a black shape circling and thought he heard a distant croaking.

"Damn," hissed the woodcutter.

"What is it?" asked Adam.

"A raven."

The woodcutter took his bow from his back and notched an arrow in his string. He knelt, took aim, and then released the arrow. His goal was true. The raven jerked in mid-air as the arrow pierced its body, and then fell to the ground not far from Adam. It was dead, the arrowhead red with its blood.

"Foul bird," said the woodcutter as he picked up the corpse and drew the arrow through its body.

"Why did you kill it?" Adam asked.

"The raven and the wolf hunt together. He led the pack to us. As a reward, they would have fed our eyes with it.”

He looked back in the direction they had come from.

"You must now rely on smell alone, but they are approaching us, make no mistake. We are in a hurry."

They continued on their way, now moving at a light trot, as if they were tired wolves themselves at the end of a hunt, until they reached the edge of the forest and emerged on a high plateau. Before them lay a great abyss, hundreds of feet deep and a quarter of a mile wide. A river thin as a piece of silver thread meandered through it, and Adam heard the cries of birds echoing off the walls of the gorge. He cautiously peered over the edge of the crevice, hoping to get a better look at what was making the noise. He saw a figure much larger than any bird he had ever seen gliding through the air, aided by the updrafts from the canyon. It had bare, almost human legs, though its toes were oddly elongated and curved like an eagle's talons. His arms were outstretched and from them hung the great folds of skin that served him for wings. His long white hair was blowing in the wind and as Adam listened he heard it begin to sing. The being's voice was very high and very beautiful, and his words were clear to him:

what falls is food

What drops will die

where does the brood live

Birds are afraid to fly.

His song was picked up and echoed by other voices, and Adam could make out many more creatures moving through the canyon. The one closest to him looped in the air, both graceful and oddly menacing, and Adam caught a glimpse of his naked body. He immediately looked away, embarrassed and embarrassed.

It was female in shape: old and with scales instead of skin, but female nonetheless. He risked another look and saw the creature descend in ever-smaller circles until suddenly its wings folded, its form slimming, and it fell quickly to the ground, clawed feet outstretched, as if heading straight for the canyon wall. It hit the rock and Adam saw something struggle in its claws: It was some small brown mammal, not much bigger than a squirrel. Its paws flapped in the air as it was yanked off the rocks. His captor changed direction and headed for a ledge below Adam to feed, shrieking in triumph. Some of his rivals, alarmed by his screams, approached hoping to steal its meal, but it flapped its wings in warning and they fled. Adam had a chance to examine its face as it levitated: it resembled that of a woman but was longer and thinner, with a lip less mouth that permanently exposed its sharp teeth. Now those teeth would cut into its prey, ripping large chunks of bloody fur from its body as it ate.

"The spawn," said the woodcutter nearby. "Another new evil ravaging this part of the kingdom."

"Shylock's," Adam said.

"You have seen such creatures before?" asked the woodcutter.

"No," Adam said. "Not really."

But I read about them. I saw them in my book of Greek myths. For some reason I don't think they belong in this story, but here they are...

Adam felt sick. He walked away from the edge of the gorge, which was so deep it made his head spin. "How do we get across?" he asked.

"There's a bridge about half a mile downstream," said the woodcutter. "We'll make it before the light fades."

He led Adam down the ravine, keeping close to the edge of the forest lest they lose their footing and fall into that awful chasm where the spawn awaited. Adam could hear the flapping of their wings, and on more than one occasion he thought he saw one of the creatures soar just over the edge of the ravine and glare at them ominously.

"Don't be afraid," said the woodcutter. "These are cowardly things. If you fall, they would rip you out of the air and tear you apart while fighting for you, but they would not dare attack you on the ground.”

Adam nodded but didn't feel reassured. In this land hunger seemed bound to overwhelm cowardice, and the Shylock's of the brood, as thin and emaciated as wolves, looked very hungry indeed.

After walking a while, their footsteps echoing with the beating of the Shylock's' wings, they saw two bridges spanning the ravine. The bridges were identical. They were made of rope, with uneven wooden slats for a base, and they didn't look particularly safe to Adam.

The woodcutter stared at her in confusion. "Two bridges," he said. "There was always only one bridge at this point."

"Well," Adam said matter-of-factually, "now it's two." It didn't seem such a terrible imposition to have a choice of two ways to cross. Maybe this was a busy place. After all, there seemed to be no other way to get across the chasm unless you could fly and were willing to try the Shylock's.

He heard flies buzzing nearby and followed the woodcutter to a small hollow just out of sight of the chasm. The remains of a hut and some stables stood there, but it was clear the property was deserted. In front of one of the stables lay the carcass of a horse, most of the meat already plucked from the bones. Adam watched as the woodcutter peered into the stables and then through the open door of the house itself. With his head bowed, he walked back to Adam.

"The horse dealer is gone," he said. "It looks like he escaped with the horses that survived."

"The Wolves?" asked Adam.

"No, that did something else."

They returned to the abyss. One of the Shylock's hung in the air nearby, watching her, wings beating rapidly to keep her in place. She stayed in that position just a moment too long, for suddenly her body spasmed and the barbed silver tip of a harpoon shot through her chest, a length of rope anchoring the shaft to a point further down the canyon wall. The harpy grasped the harpoon as if somehow she could wrench her body from her and escape, but then her wings stopped beating and she plummeted down, twisting and turning until the rope reached the end of its length and she was pulled up short, hers Body banged against the rock with a dull, thumping sound. From the edge of the abyss, Adam and the woodcutter watched how the dead harpy was pulled up to a hollow in the wall. the barbs of the harpoon prevent the corpse from slipping off. Eventually the body reached the entrance to the cave and was pulled inside.

"Uh," Adam said.

"Trolls," said the woodcutter. "That explains the second bridge."

He approached the twin buildings. Between them lay a slab of stone on which the words were painstakingly, if roughly, carved: One lies in truth,

Your own truth is lies.

One way is death

One way is life.

asked a question,

The way to lead.

"It's a mystery," Adam said.

"But what does it mean?" asked the woodcutter.

The answer quickly became clear. Adam never thought he could see a troll, although he had always been fascinated by them. In his mind they existed as shadowy figures that dwelt under bridges, testing travelers, hoping to eat them when they failed. The figures clambering over the edge of the ravine, torches in hand, weren't quite what he'd expected. They were smaller than the woodcutter but very broad, and their skin was like that of an elephant, tough and wrinkled. Raised plates of bone, like those on the backs of some dinosaurs, ran along their spines, but their faces resembled those of apes; very ugly monkeys, admittedly, and ones that appeared to be suffering from severe acne, but monkeys nonetheless.

"Two bridges and two ways," Adam said. He was thinking out loud, but caught himself before revealing anything to the two trolls and decided to keep his thoughts to himself until he came to a conclusion. The trolls already had all the benefits. He didn't want to give her up anymore.

The enigma clearly meant that a bridge was unsafe and taking it would result in death, either by the Shylock's or the trolls themselves, or, provided both parties did not react quickly enough, by falling from a very great distance and landing hard on the ground below. Actually, Adam thought both bridges looked pretty ramshackle, but he had to assume there was some truth to the riddle, otherwise there was little point in having a riddle at all.

One lies in the truth, one's truth is a lie. Adam knew that. He'd met him somewhere before, probably in a story. Oh he had it! One could only lie, the other only the truth. So you could ask a troll which bridge to follow, but he – or she, since Adam wasn't entirely sure if the trolls were male or female - couldn't tell the truth. There was a solution to this as well, only Adam couldn't remember it. What was it?

At last the light faded altogether, and a great howl came from the forest. It sounded very close.

"We have to go over there," said the woodcutter. "The wolves have found our trail."

"We can't cross the bridge until we've decided on a bridge," Adam explained. "I don't think these trolls will let us through if we don't, and if we try to push our way through and choose the wrong one..."

"Then we don't have to worry about the wolves," said the woodcutter, finishing the sentence for him.

"There is a solution," Adam said. "I know it exists. I just have to remember how to do it.”

They heard a threshing in the forest. The wolves came closer and closer.

"A question," Adam murmured.

The woodcutter held his ax in his right hand and drew his knife in his left. He stood in front of the line of trees, ready to take on whatever emerged from the forest.

"I have it!" said Adam. "I think," he added softly.

He approached the troll on the left. It was slightly larger than the other and smelled slightly better, which didn't say much.

Adam took a deep breath. "If I asked the other troll to point to the correct bridge, which bridge would it choose?" he asked.

There was silence. The troll frowned, causing some of the wounds on his face to ooze uncomfortably. Adam didn't know how long the bridge had been under construction or how many other travelers had passed that way, but he had a feeling the troll had never been asked that question before. Eventually, the troll seemed to give up trying to understand Adam's logic and pointed to the left.

"That's the one on the right," Adam said to the woodcutter.

"How can you be sure?" he asked.

"Because if the troll I asked is the liar, then the other troll is the fortune teller. The fortune teller would point to the right bridge, but the liar would lie about it. So if the truthful one pointed to the right bridge, then the liar would lie about it and tell me that it was the bridge on the right and on the left.

"But if the troll I asked must be telling the truth, then the other troll is the liar and he would be pointing to the wrong bridge. Anyway, the one on the left is the wrong bridge.”

Despite the wolves' approach, the presence of the confused trolls, and the screeching of the Shylock's, Adam couldn't help but grin with delight. He had remembered the riddle and remembered the solution. It was like the woodcutter said: someone was trying to make up a story and Adam was part of it, but the story itself was made up of other stories. Adam had read about trolls and Shylock's, and there were wood people in many old tales. Even talking animals like wolves appeared in it.

"Come on," Adam said to the woodcutter. He approached the bridge on the right, and the troll standing in front of it stepped aside to let Adam pass. Adam put one foot on the first of the boards and held on to the ropes. Now that his life depended on his choice, he felt a little less sure of himself, and the sight of the Shylock's gliding just beneath his feet made him even more frightened. Still, he had made his decision, and there was no turning back. He took a second step, then another, holding on to the rope supports and trying not to look down. He was making good progress when he noticed the woodcutter wasn't following him. Adam stopped on the bridge and looked back.

The forest was full of wolf eyes. Adam could see them glowing in the torchlight. Now they were moving, emerging from the shadows, slowly advancing on the lumberjack, the more primitive leading, the others, the loups, lagging behind, waiting for their lesser brothers and sisters to overpower the armed man before approaching. The trolls were gone, realizing that there was little point in discussing riddles with wild animals.

"No!" exclaimed Adam. "Come on! You can do it."

But the woodcutter didn't move. Instead he called out to Adam. "Go now and go quickly. I will stop them while I can. When you get to the other side, cut the ropes. Do you hear me? Cut the ropes!”

Adam shook his head. "No," he repeated. He cried. "You must come with me. You must come with me."

And then, almost simultaneously, the wolves pounced.

"Run!" yelled the woodcutter as his ax swung and his knife flashed. Adam saw a fine fountain of blood spray into the air as the first wolf died and then they were all around the woodcutter, snapping and biting, some trying to find a way past him to pursue the boy. With one last look over his shoulder, Adam ran off. He wasn't quite halfway across the bridge, and every move he made made it sway disgustingly. The pounding of his feet echoed through the ravine.

This was soon joined by the sound of paws on wood. Adam looked left and saw that three of his pursuers had taken the other bridge, hoping to cut him off on the other side, for they could not find a way around the woodcutter guarding the first bridge. The creatures quickly gained ground. One of them, a Loup bringing up the rear, wore remnants of a white dress and had gold beads dangling from his ears. Saliva dripped from its mouth as it ran, and it licked it with its tongue.

"Run," it said in an almost girlish voice, "for all the good it will bring you." It snapped in the air. "You'll taste just as good on the other side."

Adam's arms ached from holding on to the ropes, and the swaying of the bridge made him dizzy. The wolves were almost level with him. He would never make it to the other side before them.

And then some of the slats of the false bridge collapsed and the lead wolf fell through the hole. Adam heard the whistle of a harpoon, and the wolf was impaled through its stomach and dragged to the trolls in the ravine wall.

The other wolf stopped so suddenly that the female loup nearly knocked him over from behind. A large hole, at least six or seven feet across, now gaped where her brother had fallen. More harpoons shot through the air, for the trolls were no longer willing to wait for their prey to fall. The wolves had set foot on the wrong bridge and thus destroyed themselves. Another barbed blade found its mark, and the second wolf was dragged through the gaps in the ropes, writhing in agony on the steel as he died. Now only the Loup remained.

It tensed its body, jumped across the gap in the bridge, and landed safely on the other side. It slid for a moment, then recovered in front of him on its hind legs, now out of reach of the trolls' weapons, howling in triumph even as a shadow descended on it.

The harpy was bigger than any other Adam had seen, bigger and stronger and older than the others. It struck the Loup with enough force to send it falling over the support ropes, and only the firm grip of the harpy's claws, which had dug deep into the Loup's flesh on impact, prevented it from falling to his death. The loup's paws flapped and its jaws snapped as it tried to bite the harpy, but the battle was already lost. As Adam watched in horror, a second harpy joined the first and sank her claws into the loup's neck.

The two monstrous females took off in opposite directions, their wings flapping rapidly, and the loup was torn in two.

The woodcutter was still trying to hold the pack back, but he was fighting a losing battle. Adam saw him slash and slash again and again at what appeared to be a moving wall of fur and fangs until he finally fell and the wolves swarmed him.

"No!" yelled Adam, and though overcome with anger and sadness, he somehow found it within himself to run again, even as he saw two loups leap over the woodcutter's body to lead a pair of wolves onto the bridge. He could hear their paws clattering against the struts, and the weight of their bodies rocked the bridge. Adam reached the other side of the abyss, drew his sword and faced the approaching animals. They were more than halfway there now and closing in fast.

The bridge's four supporting cables were attached to two thick poles set deep in the stone beneath Adam's feet. Adam took his sword and struck at the first of the ropes, cutting about halfway through. He struck again and the rope darted away, suddenly tipping the bridge to the right and throwing the two wolves into the ravine. Adam heard the Shylock's scream in delight and the flapping of their wings grew louder.

There were still two Loups on the bridge, and they'd somehow managed to hook their limber paws around the remaining tether. Now, standing on their two hind legs and holding onto the ropes on the left, they moved closer to Adam. He lowered his sword on the second rope and heard the loups bark in fright. The bridge shook, and strands came loose under his blade. He laid the blade of his sword on the rope, looked at the loups, then raised his arms and struck with all the strength he could muster. The rope snapped, and now the Loups had nothing to hold on to but the wooden slats of the bridge beneath their feet. With a loud cry they fell.

Adam stared at the other side of the abyss. The lumberjack was gone. There was a trail of blood on the ground where he had been dragged into the forest by the wolves. Now only their leader remained, the dandy Lobo. He stood tall in his red pants and white shirt and glared at Adam with undisguised hatred. He lifted his head and howled for the lost members of his pack, but he didn't leave.

Instead, he continued to watch Adam until the boy finally left the bridge and disappeared over a small rise, crying softly for the woodcutter who had saved his life.

Chapter 13

About dwarves and their sometimes irascible nature

Adam WAS ON a raised white road paved with gravel and stones. It wasn't straight, it was winding, depending on the obstacles it encountered: a small creek here, a rocky outcrop there. A ditch ran on each side, and from there a patch of weeds and grass led to the tree line. The trees were smaller and more widely spread than in the forest he had recently left, and he could see the outlines of small, rocky hills rising behind them. He was suddenly very tired. Now that the chase was over, all his energy was gone. He desperately wanted to fall asleep, but he was afraid to do so outdoors or to stay too close to the edge. He had to find shelter.

The wolves would not forgive him for what had happened at the bridges. They would find another way to cross it, and then they would seek its trail again. Instinctively he lifted his eyes to the sky, but he could see no birds trailing behind him from above, no treacherous ravens waiting to reveal his presence to the hunters behind him.

To give himself some energy, he ate some bread from his bag and took a deep sip of his water. He felt better for a moment, but the sight of the bag and the carefully wrapped food reminded him of the lumberjack. His eyes watered again, but he refused the luxury of crying. He got up, slung his pack over his shoulder and almost fell over a dwarf who had just climbed out of the low ditch on the left onto the road.

"Watch where you're going," said the dwarf. He was about four feet tall and wore a blue tunic, black pants, and black boots that came down to his knees. On his head sat a long blue hat, at the end of which hung a bell that no longer made a sound. His face and hands were dirty and he carried a pickax over his shoulder. His nose was all red and he had a short white beard.

The beard seemed to have food scraps trapped in it.

"Sorry," Adam said.

"You should be too."

"I did not see you."

'Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?' said the dwarf. He waved his pickax menacingly. "Are you fat? Are you saying I'm short?"

"Well, you're small," Adam said. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added hastily. "I'm also small compared to some people."

But the dwarf was no longer listening and had begun shouting at a column of squat figures heading down the street.

"Hey, comrades!" said the dwarf. "This guy says I'm short."

"Insolence!" said a voice.

"Hold him until we get there, mate," said another, then apparently reconsidered. "Wait, how tall is he?"

The dwarf examined Adam. "Not very big," he said. "One and a half dwarves. Dwarf and two-thirds at most.”

"Okay, we'll take him," came the reply.

Suddenly, it seemed like Adam was surrounded by unhappy little men, muttering about "rights" and "liberties" and fed up with "this stuff." They were all dirty and they all wore hats with broken bells. One of them kicked Adam in the shin.

"Ow!" said Adam. "That hurts."

"Now you know what our feelings, um, feel like," said the first dwarf.

A small grubby hand tugged at Adam's backpack. Another tried to steal his sword. A third seemed to poke his soft spots just for fun.

"That's enough!" shouted Adam. "Stop it!"

He wildly swung his backpack and was quite pleased when he felt himself meet with a pair of dwarves, who immediately fell into the ditch and rolled around theatrically for a while.

"Why did you do that?" asked the first dwarf. He looked pretty shocked.

"You kicked me."

"Was not."

"Were they too. And someone tried to steal my bag.”

"Not."

"Oh, that's just ridiculous," Adam said. "You did and you know it."

The dwarf bowed his head and stepped lazily onto the road, kicking up a small cloud of white dust. "Oh, well then," it said. "Maybe I did. We're sorry."

"It's okay," Adam said.

He reached out and helped the dwarves lift their two companions out of the ditch.

Nobody was seriously injured. In fact, now that it was all over, the dwarves seemed to have quite enjoyed the whole encounter.

"It was a reminder of the Great Controversy," said one. "Right, comrade?"

"By all means, comrade," replied another. "Workers must resist oppression at every turn."

"Um, but I wasn't really holding you down," Adam said.

"But you could have if you wanted to," said the first dwarf. "Right?"

He looked up at Adam rather pathetically. Adam could tell he really, really wished someone had tried unsuccessfully to hold him down.

"Well, if you say so," Adam said, just to make the dwarf happy.

"Hooray!" cried the dwarf. “We have withstood the threat of oppression. The workers will not be tied up!”

"Hooray!" cried the other dwarves in unison. "We have nothing to lose but our chains."

"But you don't have any chains," Adam said.

"Those are metaphorical chains," explained the first dwarf. He nodded once, as if he'd just said something very profound.

"Right," Adam said. He wasn't sure exactly what a metaphorical chain was.

In fact, Adam wasn't quite sure what the dwarves were talking about. Still, it was a total of seven, which seemed about right.

"Do you have names?" asked Adam.

"Names?" said the first dwarf. "Names?

Of course we have names. I" - he coughed quietly and self-importantly - "am Comrade Brother Number One. These are comrade brothers number two, three, four, five, six and eight.”

"What happened to seven?" Adam asked.

There was an awkward silence.

"We are not talking about the former comrade brother number seven," finally said comrade brother number one. "He was officially struck off the party's record."

"He went to work for his mother," Comrade Brother Number Three helpfully explained.

"A capitalist!" Spit brother number one.

"A baker," corrected brother number three.

He stood on tiptoe and whispered something to Adam. "We can't talk to him now. We can't even eat his mother's buns, not even the day-old ones she sells for half price."

"I heard that," said Brother Number One. "We can make our own buns," he added, offended. "Don't need buns from a class traitor."

"No, we can't," said brother number three. "They are always harsh, and then she complains."

Immediately the relatively good mood of the dwarves disappeared. They took their tools and got ready to go.

"Must be on the way," Brother Number One said. "Nice to meet you, comrade. Uh, you're a comrade, aren't you?"

"I suppose so," Adam said. He wasn't sure, but he wouldn't risk getting into another fight with the dwarves. "As a comrade, can I still eat rolls?"

"As long as they are not baked by former Comrade Brother Number Seven..."

"Or his mother," added brother number three sarcastically.

"...you can eat anything you like," Brother Number One concluded as he raised a warning finger at Brother Number Three.

The dwarves began marching down the ditch across the road, following a rough path that led into the trees.

"Sorry," Adam said. "I don't think I could stay the night with you, could I? I am lost and very tired.”

Comrade Brother Number One paused.

"She's not going to like that," said brother number four.

“On the other hand,” said brother number two, “she always complains that she has no one to talk to. Might put her in a good mood to see a new face.”

"Have a good time," Brother Number One said wistfully, as if it were a wonderful taste of ice cream he'd tasted a long, long time ago. "You're right, mate," he said to Adam. "Come with us. See you soon."

Adam was so happy he could have jumped.

As they walked, Adam learned a little more about the dwarves. At least he thought he might learn more about her, but he didn't understand everything he was told. There was a lot of stuff about "workers' ownership of the methods of production" and "the principles of the Second Congress of the Third Committee," but not the Third Congress of the Second Committee, which had apparently ended in an argument over who was going to die Rinse cups afterwards.

Adam also had an idea of??who "she" might be, but it seemed polite to double-check, just in case.

"Does a lady live with you?" he asked Brother Number One.

The hum of the other dwarves' conversations stopped immediately.

"Yes, unfortunately," said Brother Number One.

"All seven of you?" Adam continued. He wasn't sure why, but there was something odd about a woman living with seven little men.

"Separate beds," said the dwarf. "Not a funny thing."

"Gosh, no," Adam said. He tried to wonder what the dwarf meant by that, but then decided it might be better not to think about it. "Um, her name wouldn't be Dorthy, would it?"

Comrade Brother Number One stopped dead, resulting in a small gathering of comrades behind him.

"She's not a friend of yours, is she?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh no, not at all," Adam said. "I never met the lady. I may have heard of her, that's all.”

"Hm," said the dwarf, apparently satisfied, and started moving again.

"Everyone's heard from her, 'Ooh, Dorthy, who lives with the dwarves, eats them out and in. They couldn't even kill her properly.' Oh yes, everyone knows Dorthy.”

"Er, kill them?" Adam asked.

"Poisoned apple," said the dwarf. "Didn't go so well. We underestimated the dose.”

"I thought it was her evil stepmother who poisoned her," Adam said.

"You don't read newspapers," said the dwarf. "It turns out the evil stepmother had an alibi."

"We really should have checked first," said brother number five. “Seems like she just poisoned someone else. chance in a million, really. It was just bad luck.”

Now it was Adam's turn to stop. "So you mean you tried to poison Dorthy?"

"We just wanted her to doze off for a while," Brother Number Two said.

"Very long," said Number Three.

"But why?" said Adam.

"You'll see," said Brother Number One. "Anyway, we feed her an apple: chomp-chomp, snooze-snooze, weep-weep, 'poor Dorthy, we're going to miss her so much, but life goes on.' We put her on a platter, surround her with flowers and little crying bunnies, you know, all the trimmings, then a fucking prince comes and kisses her. We don't even have a prince here. He just appeared out of nowhere on a bleeding white horse. Next thing you know, he's climbed down and is sitting on Dorthy like a whippet down a rabbit hole. I don't know what he was thinking frolicking around and randomly kissing strange women who happened to be sleeping at the time."

"Pervert," said brother number three. "Should be locked up."

"Anyway, like a big fragrant tea cosy, he hops in on his white horse, meddles in matters that are none of his business, and the next thing she wakes up and – ooh! – she was in a bad mood. The prince didn't get half an ear, and that was after she gave him a first watch for "taking liberties." Listen for five minutes, and instead of marrying her, the prince gets back on his horse and rides off into the sunset. Never saw him again. We blamed the whole apple business on the local evil stepmom, but if there's one lesson to be learned from all of this, it's to make sure the person you're wrongly blaming for something bad is actually a choice, so to speak.

There was a trial, we got suspended sentences for provocation combined with lack of sufficient evidence, and we were told that if anything ever happened to Dorthy again, if she chipped a nail off, we were in favor of it.”

Comrade Brother Number One looked like he was choking on a noose, just in case Adam didn't understand what "it" meant.

"Oh," said Adam. "But that's not the story I heard."

"Story!" The dwarf snorted. "Next you're going to talk about 'happily ever after.' do we look happy There is no happy ending for us. Misery to the end, more like that.”

"We should have left them to the bears," said brother number five grumpily. "They know how to kill well, the bears."

"Goldilocks," Brother Number One said, nodding appreciatively. "Classic, simply classic."

"Oh, she was awful," said brother number five. "You really can't blame them."

"Wait," Adam said. "Goldilocks ran away from the bear house and never came back."

He stopped talking. The dwarves were looking at him now, as if he might be a bit slow.

"Um, isn't it?" he added.

"She's got a taste for her porridge," said Brother One, gently tapping his nose as if telling Adam a big secret. "Couldn't get enough of it. Eventually, the bears just got tired of them, and that was it.

"She fled into the forest and never came back to the bear house." A likely story!"

"You mean...they killed her?" Adam asked.

"They ate her," said Brother Number One. "With porridge. That means "ran away and was never seen again" in these areas. It means "eaten".”

"Um, and what about 'happily ever after'?" Adam asked a little uncertainly.

"What does that mean?"

"Eaten quickly," said Brother Number One.

And with that they reached the house of the dwarves.

Chapter 14

From Dorthy, who is very awkward indeed

"YOU ARE LATE!"

Adam's eardrums rang like bells when Comrade Brother Number One opened the front door of the cabin and very nervously called out, "Coo-ee, we're home!" in that singsong voice Adam's father used to use on Adam's mother sometimes when he was out late came back from the pub knowing he was in trouble.

"Not 'we're at home' with me," came the reply. "Where have you been? I'm starving.

My stomach is like an empty keg.”

Adam had never heard such a voice. It was a woman's voice, but it managed to be both low and high at the same time, like those huge ditches that were supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean, just not quite as wet.

"Ooooooh, I can hear it rumble," said the voice. "Here, you, listen."

A large white hand reached out and grabbed Brother Number One by the neck, lifting him off his feet and yanking him in.

"Oh yes," Brother Number One said after a moment or two. His voice sounded slightly muffled. "I can hear if now."

Adam allowed the other dwarves to enter the hut in front of them. They left like prisoners who had just been told the executioner had a little more time and could do a few more be-headings before going home to have his tea.

Adam threw a lingering glance back into the dark forest, wondering if he shouldn't just take his chances outside.

"Close the door!" said the voice. "I'm freezing. My teeth are chattering.”

Adam, feeling he had no choice, entered the cottage and closed the door tightly behind him.

Before him stood the tallest and fattest woman Adam had ever seen. Her face was covered with white make-up. Her hair was black and tied with a colorful cotton ribbon, and her lips were painted purple. She wore a pink dress large enough to house a small circus. Brother Number One was pressed tightly against his folds to better hear the strange noises the large stomach was making underneath. His little feet almost, but not quite, touched the ground. The dress was adorned with so many ribbons and buttons and bows that Adam was quite at a loss as to how the lady could remember which ones they actually got rid of the dress and which ones were just for show. Her feet were crammed into a pair of silk slippers that were at least three sizes too small,

"Who are you then?" She said.

"He'ph comfany," said Brother Number One.

"Company?" said the lady, dropping brother number one like an unwanted toy.

"Well, why didn't you say you were bringing company?" She stroked her hair and smiled, revealing her lipstick-smeared teeth. "I would have dressed up. I would have put my face on.”

Adam heard brother number three whispering to brother number eight. The words

"everything" and "improvement" were barely audible. Unfortunately, they were still too loud for the lady's liking, and brother number three received a smack on the head for his trouble.

"Careful," she said. "Naughty sack."

Then she held out a large, pale hand to Adam and curtsied a little.

"Dorthy," she said. "Nice to make your acquaintance, I'm sure."

Adam shook hands and watched in horror as his fingers were entangled in Dorthy's marshmallow palm.

"I'm Adam," he said.

"That's a nice name," Dorthy said. She giggled and buried her chin in her chest. The action created so many waves of fat that her head looked like it was about to melt. "Are you a prince?"

"No," Adam said. "We're sorry."

Dorthy looked disappointed. She let go of Adam's hand and tried to play with one of her rings, but the ring was so tight it wouldn't move.

"Perhaps a nobleman?"

"No."

"Son of a nobleman, with a great inheritance awaiting you on your eighteenth birthday?"

Adam pretended to think about the question.

"Um, no again," he said.

"Well, what are you? Don't tell me you're one of your booorrrring friends who came here to talk workers and oppression. I warned them, that's what I did: stop talking about revolutions, not before I've had tea.”

"But we are being oppressed," protested Brother Number One.

"Of course you're oppressed!" said Dorthy. "You're only a meter tall.

Now go get me some tea before I lose my good mood. And take off your boots. I don't want you throwing a lot of dirt on my nice clean floor. You cleaned it just yesterday.”

The dwarves removed their boots and left them at the door along with their tools, then lined up to wash their hands in the small sink before preparing supper. They cut bread and cut vegetables while two rabbits roasted over an open fire. The smell made Adam's mouth water.

"I suppose you'll need food at all," Dorthy said to Adam.

"I'm pretty hungry," Adam admitted.

"Well, you can share her rabbit. You're not mine."

Dorthy dropped into a large chair by the fire. She puffed out her cheeks and sighed loudly.

"I ate it here," she said. "It's so booorrrinnng."

"Why don't you just go?" asked Adam.

"Leave?" said Dorthy. "And where would I go?"

"Do not you have a home?" said Adam.

“My father and stepmother moved away. They say their apartment is too small for me.

Anyway, they're just booing, and I'd rather be bored here than with them."

"Oh," said Adam. He considered bringing up the court case and the dwarves' attempt to poison Dorthy. He was very interested, but wasn't sure it would be polite to ask. After all, he didn't want to get the gnomes into any more trouble than they already were.

In the end, Dorthy made the decision for him. She leaned forward and whispered in a voice like two stones rubbing against each other: “In any case, you have to take care of me. The judge told them they had to do it because they were trying to poison me.”

Adam didn't think he wanted to live with someone who had tried to poison him before, but assumed Dorthy wasn't worried about the dwarves trying again. If they did, they would be killed, although the look on Brother Number One Adam's face suggested that death might almost be welcome after living with Dorthy for a while.

"But don't you want to meet a handsome prince?" he asked.

"I met a handsome prince," Dorthy said. She stared dreamily out the window. "He woke me up with a kiss, but then he wanted to leave. But he told me he'd be back as soon as he went off and killed some dragon."

"Should have stayed here and taken care of the one we have first," mumbled brother number three. Dorthy threw a log at him.

"See what I'm going through?" she said to Adam. "I'm left alone all day while they work at my place and then I have to listen to them complain as soon as they get home. I don't even know why they bother with it like that. You never find anything!”

Adam saw the dwarves exchange a few looks when they heard what Dorthy was saying. He even thought he heard brother number three laugh a little until brother number four kicked him in the shin and told him to be quiet.

"So I'll stay here with this bunch until my prince returns," Dorthy said.

"Or until another prince comes along and decides to marry me, whichever comes first."

She bit a hangnail off her little finger and spat it into the fire.

"Well," she said to end the subject, "WHERE IS. ME. TEA?"

Every cup, pot, pan, and plate in the cottage rattled. Dust fell from the ceiling.

Adam saw a family of mice evacuate their mouse hole and go through a crack in the wall, never to return.

"I always get a little yelly when I'm 'hungry,' me," Dorthy said. "Right.

Someone 'and I, this bunny..."

They ate in silence save for the slurping, scratching, chewing, and belching that came from Dorthy's end of the table. She really ate a lot. She cut up her own rabbit to the bone and then began picking meat from Brother Number Six's plate without even asking permission. She devoured a whole loaf of bread and half a block of very smelly cheese. She downed mug after mug of the ale the dwarves brewed in their shed, and drank it all down with two slices of fruitcake that Brother Number One had baked, though she complained when a raisin broke one of her teeth.

"I told you it was a bit dry," brother number two whispered to brother number one. Brother number one just frowned.

When there was nothing left to eat, Dorthy staggered off the table and dropped into her chair by the fire, where she fell asleep immediately. Adam helped the dwarves clear the table and wash the dishes, then joined them in a corner where they all started smoking a pipe. The tobacco stank like someone was burning old, damp socks. Brother Number One offered to share his pipe with Adam, but Adam very politely declined the offer.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Some of the gnomes coughed, and Adam noticed that none of them wanted to draw his attention. Only Brother Number One seemed willing to answer the question.

"Coal, sort of," he said.

"Like that?"

"Well, it's a kind of charcoal. It's stuff that used to be charcoal in a way."

"It's cabbage," Brother Number Three said helpfully.

Adam thought about it. "Uh, you mean diamonds?"

Immediately, seven small figures jumped towards him. Brother Number One covered Adam's mouth with a small hand and said, “Don't say that word here. Ye."

Adam nods. When the dwarves were sure he understood the gravity of the situation, they dismounted.

"So you didn't tell Dorthy about the, uh, carbonaceous stuff," he said.

"No," said Brother Number One. "I never, um, got around to it."

"Don't you trust her?"

"Would you?" asked brother number three. "Last winter, when food was hard to come by, brother number four woke up to find her nibbling on his foot."

Brother number four nodded solemnly to let Adam know that this was nothing short of the truth.

"I still have the tracks," he said.

"If she finds out the mine works, she'll take every gem we're worth," Brother Number Three continued. “Then we would be even more oppressed than we already are. And poorer.”

Adam looked around the cabin. It wasn't very much to write home about. There were two rooms: the one they were sitting in now, and a bedroom Dorthy had taken for herself. The dwarves slept together in a bed in a corner by the fire, three on one end and four on the other.

"If she weren't there, we could clean up the apartment a bit," said Brother Number One.

"But when we start spending money on it, she gets suspicious, so we have to leave it as it is. We can't even buy another bed.”

“But aren't there people nearby who know about the mine? Doesn't anyone have any suspicions?"

"Oh, we used to let people know that we made some money from mining," said the dwarf. "Just enough to keep us going. It's hard work, mining, and nobody wants to do it unless they're sure they'll get rich from it. As long as we keep our heads down and don't spend money on fancy clothes or gold chains..."

"Or beds," said brother number eight.

"Or beds," agreed Brother Number One, "then everything will be fine. It's just that none of us are getting any younger and now it would be nice to take things a little easier and maybe indulge in some luxury.”

The dwarves looked at Dorthy, who was snoring in her chair, and they all sighed in unison.

"Actually, we're hoping to bribe someone to take them from us," Brother Number One finally admitted.

"You mean pay someone to marry her?" Adam asked.

"He would have to be very desperate, of course, but we would make it worthwhile," said Brother Number One. "Well, I'm not sure there are enough diamonds in the whole country to make her worth living with, but we'd give him a bunch to lighten the load. He could buy some really nice earplugs and a really big bed.”

Meanwhile some of the gnomes nodded off. Brother Number One picked up a long stick and nervously approached Dorthy.

"She doesn't like being woken up," he explained to Adam. "We think that's the easiest for everyone."

He nudged Dorthy with the end of the stick. Nothing has happened.

"I think you need to make it harder," Adam said.

This time the dwarf gave Dorthy a hard push. It seemed to work, as she immediately grabbed the stick and gave it a sharp tug, nearly throwing Brother One straight into the chimney before remembering to let go and ending up in the brazier instead.

"Unk," Dorthy said. "Arfle."

She wiped some drool from her mouth, wiped Violet from her chair and staggered to her bedroom. "Bacon in the morning," she said. "Four eggs. And a sausage. No, make eight sausages out of them."

With that, she slammed the door behind her, fell onto her bed, and fell fast asleep.

Adam sat curled up in the chair by the fire. The house rumbled with the snoring of Dorthy and the dwarves, an intricate arrangement of snorts, whistles, and dusty coughs. Adam thought of the lumberjack and the trail of blood that led into the forest. He remembered Lobo and the look in the Loup's eyes. Adam knew he couldn't afford to stay with the dwarves for more than one night. He had to keep moving. He had to make his way to the king.

He got up from his chair and went to the window. He couldn't see anything outside, the darkness was so thick and heavy. He listened, but all he could hear was the howling of an owl. He hadn't forgotten what brought him to this place, but his mother's voice hadn't come to him again since he'd entered the new world.

Only if she called him would he be able to find her.

"Mom," he whispered. "If you're out there, I need your help. I can't find you unless you guide me."

But there was no answer.

He went back to his chair and closed his eyes. He fell asleep and dreamed of his bedroom at home and of his father and his new family, but they were not alone in the house. In his dream, the dishonest man sauntered down the hallway until he came to Tommie's bedroom, where he stood looking at the child for a long time before leaving the house and returning to his own world.

Chapter 15

From the deer girl

Dorthy was still snoring in her bed when Adam and the dwarves left the next morning, and the little men's spirits seemed to improve considerably the further they left them. They walked with him to the white street, then they all stood around rather awkwardly while each tried to find the best way to say goodbye.

"Of course we can't tell you where the mine is," said Brother Number One.

"Obviously," Adam said. "I understand."

"Because it's secret how."

"Yes of course."

"I don't want everyone snooping around Tom, Dick and Harry."

"That seems very reasonable."

Brother Number One tugged at his ear thoughtfully.

"It's just over the big hill on the right," he said quickly. “There is a path that leads there. It's well hidden, mind you, so you'll have to keep looking out for it.

It is marked by an eye carved into a tree. At least we think it's carved. You can never tell with these trees. You know, just in case you need some company.”

His face brightened. "Ha!" he said. “A 'small company'! Do you see what I did there?

You know, a small company, like friends, and a small company, like a group of midgets. See?"

Adam saw it and laughed dutifully.

"Now remember," said Brother Number One, "when you meet a prince or young nobleman, even if you see someone who looks desperate enough to marry a great woman for money, you send him to us, right? Make sure he waits on that street until we show up. We don't want him going to the cottage alone, and, well, you know...'

"Being intimidated," Adam finished for him.

"Yes, quite. Well, good luck and stay on the path. There's a village a day or two from here and there's bound to be someone who can help you on your way, but don't be tempted to stray off the path no matter what you see. There are many foul things in these woods, and they have a way of luring people into their clutches, so be careful what you do.”

And with that, the little company of the little company was lost to Adam when the dwarves disappeared into the forest. As they marched, he heard them singing a song that Brother Number One had invented for them on the way to work. It didn't have a great melody, and Brother Number One seemed to have had some trouble finding suitable rhymes for "collectivization of labor" and "oppression by the capitalist hounds," but Adam was still sad as the song faded away and he became left alone on the silent street.

He had been very fond of the dwarves. He often had no idea what they were talking about, but for a group of murderous, class-obsessed little people, they were actually quite funny. After they left him, he felt very alone. Although this was clearly a main road, Adam seemed to be the only person driving it. Here and there he found traces of others who had walked that path – the remains of a fire long gone now; a leather thong, one end of which had been gnawed by a hungry animal—but that was as close as it seemed he would meet another human that day. The constant twilight, which changed markedly only in the early morning and late evening, sapped his energy and dampened his spirits, and he felt his attention wander. Sometimes he seemed to fall asleep standing up because he had dream flashes, visions in which Dr. Atwood stood over him and seemed to speak to him, and periods of darkness when he thought he heard his father's voice. Then he suddenly awoke, his feet deviating from the path and his legs nearly tangling beneath him as he moved from rock to grass.

He realized that he was very hungry. He had eaten with the dwarves that morning, but now his stomach was growling and aching. There was food left in his backpack, and the dwarves had augmented his supplies a little by giving him some dried fruit, but he had no idea how far he would have to travel before he reached the king's castle. Even the dwarves were no help there. As far as Adam could tell, the king didn't have much to do with running his kingdom at all. Brother Number One told Adam that once someone came into the cottage claiming to be a royal tax collector, but after an hour in Dorthy's company he left without his hat and never returned. The only facts about the king that Brother Number One could confirm were that there was (probably) a king and that there was a castle somewhere down the road Adam was traveling, although Brother Number One had never seen it. And so Adam walked on, his mind wandering, his stomach aching and the road white in front of him.

During one of his near falls into the ditch, Adam saw apples hanging from the branches of a tree in a clearing at the edge of the forest. They looked green and almost ripe, and he felt his mouth water. He remembered the instruction of the dwarves, their warning that he should always stay on the path and not be tempted by the bounty of the forest. But what harm could it do to pick a few apples from a tree? He would still be able to see the road from there, and with the help of a fallen branch he could probably remove enough fruit to keep him going for a day or more. He stopped and listened, but heard nothing. The forest was silent.

Adam left the street. The ground was soft and his feet made an uncomfortable squeezing sound with every step. As he approached the tree, he saw that the fruit at the very ends of the branches were smaller and less ripe than the apples farther up the heart of the tree, each the size of a man's fist.

He could reach them if he climbed them, and climbing trees was something Adam was really, really good at. It took only a few minutes to climb the trunk, and soon he was sitting in a fork in a branch, munching on an apple that he found incredibly sweet. It had been weeks since he'd eaten an apple, not since a local farmer had quietly slipped Violet some "for the little ones." Those apples had been small and sour, but these were wonderful. The juice ran down his chin and the flesh was firm in his mouth.

He devoured the last of the first apple and discarded the core, then picked another.

He ate it more slowly, remembering his mother's warnings about eating too many apples. They gave you a tummy ache, she'd said. Adam assumed it was a recipe for gorging on too much of anything, but he wasn't sure how that applied when you hadn't eaten for almost a day. All he knew was that the fruit tasted good and his stomach was grateful for it.

He was halfway through the second apple when he heard a noise below.

Something was rapidly approaching from the left. He could see movement in the bushes and a flash of light brown skin. It looked like a deer, although Adam couldn't see its head, and it was clearly fleeing a threat. Immediately Adam thought of the wolves. He crouched closer to the trunk of the tree, trying to shield himself with it. Even as he did so, he wondered if the wolves would pick up his tracks on the ground as they passed, or if the stags' lure was enough to blind their senses.

Seconds later, the deer broke cover and entered the clearing under Adam's tree. It paused for a moment, as if unsure which way to go, and that's when he got his first clear look at his head. The sight made him gasp, for it was not the head of a deer, but that of a young girl with blond hair and dark green eyes.

He could see where her human neck ended and the deer's body began, for a red welt marked the place where the two beings were joined. The girl looked up, startled by the sound, and her eyes met Adam's.

"Help me!" she asked. "Please."

And then the sounds of pursuit came nearer, and Adam saw a horse and rider coming into the clearing, the rider's bow drawn and ready to fire his arrow. The deer girl heard her too, for her hind legs tensed and she sprang towards the shelter of the forest. She was still in the air when the arrow hit her neck. The blow threw her body to the right, where it lay convulsing on the floor. The deer girl's mouth opened and closed as she tried to say her last words. Her hind legs kicked the ground, her body trembled, and then she stopped moving.

The rider trotted into the clearing on a huge black horse. He was hooded and dressed in the colors of the autumn forest, all green and amber. In his left hand he held a short bow and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. He dismounted, drew a long blade from a sheath on his saddle, and approached the body on the ground. He raised the blade and slashed once, then again, at the deer girl's neck. Adam looked away after the first punch, his hand over his mouth and his eyes narrowed. When he dared a look back, the girl's head was severed from the deer's body and the hunter was wearing it by the hair, dark blood dripping from the neck onto the forest floor.

He used his hair to tie his head to the horn of his saddle so that it hung from his horse's flank, and then laid the stag's carcass over the horse before preparing to mount again. His left foot was already raised when he stopped and stared at the floor. Adam followed his gaze and saw the discarded core of the apple on the horse's hooves. The hunter lowered his foot and stared at the core, then in one quick movement drew an arrow from his quiver and notched it in the bow.

The tip of the arrow lifted toward the apple tree and came to rest pointing directly at Adam.

"Come down," the hunter said, his voice muffled slightly by a scarf covering his mouth. "Come down or I'll shoot you down."

Adam had no choice but to submit. He felt himself start to cry. He tried desperately to hold himself back, but he could smell the deer girl's blood in the air. His only hope was that the hunter had enjoyed his sport for the day and therefore saw fit to spare him.

Adam reached the base of the tree. For a moment he was tempted to run and take his chances in the woods, but it was an idea he dismissed almost immediately. A hunter who could kill a leaping deer with an arrow on horseback would certainly have an easier time hitting a fleeing boy. He had no choice but to hope for mercy from the hunter, but as he stood in front of the hooded figure he looked into the sightless eyes of the deer girl and wondered if there was any hope of mercy from someone who could do such a thing.

"Lie down," said the hunter. "On your stomach."

"Please don't hurt me," Adam said.

"Lie down!"

Adam knelt on the floor and then forced himself to lie flat. He heard the hunter approach, and then his arms were wrenched behind his back and his wrists bound with coarse rope. His sword was taken from him. His legs were bound at the ankles and he was lifted into the air and thrown over the back of the great horse, his body lying on that of the deer, his left side resting painfully against the saddle. But Adam didn't think about the pain, not even as they began to trot and the pain in his side became a regular, rhythmic throbbing, like a dagger blade being driven between his ribs.

No, all Adam could think of was the stag girl's head, for her face rubbed against his as they rode, her warm blood smearing his cheek, and he saw himself reflected in the dark green mirrors of her eyes.

Chapter 16

From the three surgeons

They rode for what seemed like an hour to Adam, maybe longer. The hunter didn't speak. Adam became dizzy from hanging across the horse and his head hurt.

The scent of the deer girl's blood was very strong, and the longer their journey went on, the colder and colder the touch of her skin to his became.

At last they came to a long stone house in the woods. It was plain and unadorned, with narrow windows and a high roof. To one side was a large stable, and there the rider tied his horse. Other animals were here too. A deer stood in a pen chewing straw and blinking at the newcomers. There were chickens in a wire pen and rabbits in pens. Nearby, a fox clawed at the bars of its cage, its attention torn between the hunter and the tasty prey just out of reach.

The hunter dismounted and detached the deer girl's head from the saddle. With his other hand he picked Adam up and slung him over his shoulder, then carried him to the house. The deer girl's head made a soft thud against the door as the hunter lifted the bolt, and then they stepped in and Adam was flung onto the stone floor. He landed on his back and lay dazed and frightened as lamp after lamp was lit and he could finally see the hunter's lair.

The walls were covered with heads, each mounted on a wooden board and attached to the stone. Many of the heads were animal—deer, wolf, even a loup that seemed to have been given pride of place on a wall at the center of the exhibit—but others were human. Some were from young adults and three from very old men, but most seemed to belong to children, boys and girls, whose eyes had been replaced with glassy equivalents that glittered in the lamplight. There was a fireplace at one end of the room and a single pallet bed next to it. Against another wall was a small desk and a single chair. Adam turned his head and saw dried meat hanging from hooks at the far end of the room. He couldn't tell if it was animal or human.

But the room was dominated by two large oaken tables, so huge they must have been assembled piece by piece in the house itself. They were stained with blood and from where he sat Adam could see chains and handcuffs on them and leather cuffs. To one side of the tables was a shelf of knives, blades, and surgical tools, all obviously old but always sharp and clean. Above the tables hung a series of metal and glass tubes on ornate frames, half as thin as needles, the rest as thick as Adam's arm.

Bottles of all shapes and sizes, some filled with clear liquid while the rest had been used to store body parts, sat on shelves. A bottle was almost filled to the brim with eyeballs. To Adam they seemed alive, as if being ripped from their sockets hadn't robbed them of their ability to see. Another held a woman's hand, a gold ring on her marriage finger, red varnish slowly peeling off the nails. A third contained half a brain, its inner workings exposed and marked with colored pins.

And there were worse things than this, oh, much worse things...

He heard footsteps approaching. The hunter stood over him, hood now down and scarf removed to reveal the face beneath. It was a woman's face. Her skin was flushed and unadorned, her mouth thin and unsmiling. Her hair was loosely tied on top of her head. It was black and white and silver, like badger fur. As Adam watched, she let loose her curls, letting them fall in an avalanche over her shoulders and down her back. She knelt and grasped Adam's face with her right hand, turning his head from side to side as she examined his skull. Then she released his face and tested his neck and the muscles in his arms and legs.

"You can do this," she said more to herself than Adam, and then she left him on the floor while she worked on the deer girl's head. She didn't say another word to him until her work was completed many hours later. She straightened Adam and seated him in a low chair before showing him the fruits of her labor.

The deer girl's head was mounted on a piece of dark wood. Her hair was washed and spread out on the block, held in place by a thin layer of glue. Her eyes had been removed and replaced with ovals of green and black glass. Her skin had been coated with a waxy substance to protect it, and her head made a hollow sound as the Slayer rapped on it with her knuckles.

"She's pretty, don't you think?" said the Slayer.

Adam shook his head but said nothing. This girl had once had a name. She had had a mother and father, maybe sisters and brothers. She would have played and loved and been loved in return. She may have grown up and given birth to children of her own. Now all that was lost.

"You disagree?" asked the huntress. "Maybe you feel sorry for her. But consider: in the coming years she would have grown old and ugly. Men would have used them.

Children would have burst out of her. Her teeth would have rotted from her head, her skin would have wrinkled and aged, and her hair would have grown thin and white. Now she will always be a child and she will always be beautiful."

The Slayer leaned forward. She touched her hand to Adam's cheek and smiled for the first time. "And soon you will be like her too."

Adam turned his head away.

"Who are you?" he asked. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm a hunter," she answered simply. "A hunter must hunt."

"But she was a little girl," Adam said. "A girl with the body of an animal, but still a girl. I heard her speak. She was afraid. And then you killed her.”

The huntress stroked the deer girl's hair.

"Yes," she said softly. "She lasted longer than I expected. She was smarter than I thought. Perhaps a fox body would have been more appropriate, but it is too late now.”

"You made them like this?" Adam gasped. Though scared, his disgust at what the Slayer had done permeated every word. The Slayer seemed surprised at the venom in his voice and seemed to feel that her actions needed justification.

"A hunter is always looking for new prey," she said. "I was tired of chasing beasts, and humans are bad game. Her mind is sharp but her body is weak.

And then I thought how wonderful it would be if I could combine the body of an animal with the intelligence of a human. What a test of my skills! But it was hard, so hard, to create such hybrids: both animals and humans would die before I could bring them together. I couldn't staunch the bleeding long enough to allow for the union. Their brains died, their hearts stopped, and all my hard work would turn into nothing, drop by red drop.

"And then I got lucky. Three surgeons were traveling through the forest and I met them and captured them and brought them here. They told me about an ointment they had made, one that could fuse a severed hand back to her wrist or a leg to her torso. I let them show me what they could do. I cut off the arm of one of them and the others fixed it like they promised. Then I cut another one in half and his friends made it whole again. Finally, I cut off the third's head and they reattached it to his neck.

"And they became the first of my new prey," she said, indicating the heads of the three older men against the wall, "after they told me how to make the ointment for myself. Now each prey is different as each child brings something of themselves into the animal I fuse with them.”

"But why children?" asked Adam.

"Because adults despair," she replied, "children don't. Children are adjusting to their new body and life, because what child doesn't dream of being an animal? And the truth is, I prefer chasing children. They make a better sport and better trophies for my wall because they are beautiful."

The Slayer stepped back and eyed Adam intently, as if only now realizing the nature of his questions.

"What's your name and where are you from? She asked. “You are not from these countries. I can tell by your smell and your speech.”

"My name is Adam. I come from another place."

"Which place?"

"England."

"England," repeated the Slayer. "And how did you get here?"

“There was a passage between my country and this one. I got through, but now I can't go back."

"So sad, so sad," said the Slayer. "And are there many children in England?"

Adam didn't answer. The Slayer grabbed his face and dug her nails into his skin.

"Give me an answer!"

"Yes," he said reluctantly.

The Slayer released him.

“Maybe I'll get you to show me the way. There are so few children here now.

They don't wander like they used to. This one' - she pointed to the deer girl's head - 'was the last one I had and I saved her. But now I have you So… shall I use you as I used her, or shall I make you take me to England?”

She stepped away from Adam and thought for a while.

"I'm patient," she finally said. “I know this country and I have survived its changes before. The kids are coming back. Winter is coming and I have enough food to feed me. You'll be my last hunt before the snow falls. I'll make a fox out of you because I think you're smarter than my little deer. Who knows, maybe you'll escape me and spend your life in a hidden part of the forest, although no one has made it yet. There is always hope, my Adam, always hope. Sleep now, because tomorrow we start.”

With that, she cleaned Adam's face with a cloth and kissed him softly on the lips.

Then she carried him to the big table and tied him up there in case he tried to escape during the night before she put out all the lights. She undressed in the firelight, then lay naked on her bunk and fell asleep.

But Adam didn't sleep. He considered his situation. He remembered his stories and returned to the memory of the woodcutter who had told him about the gingerbread house. In every story there was something to learn.

And over time he began to plan.

Chapter 17

Of centaurs and the vanity of the huntress

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING the Slayer awoke and dressed. She roasted some meat on the fire and ate it with a tea of??herbs and spices, then came to Adam and set him up. His back and limbs ached from the hard table and the restraints of the chains, and he had slept little, but now he had purpose. Up to this point he had depended largely on the goodwill of others - the woodcutter, the dwarves - for his care and safety. Now he was on his own, and the possibility of survival was entirely in his own hands.

The Slayer gave him some of the tea and then tried to get him to eat the meat, but he wouldn't open his mouth to do so. It smelled strong and wild.

"It's venison," she said. "You must eat. You will need your strength."

But Adam kept his mouth shut tight. All he could think about was the deer girl and the feel of her skin against his. Who knew what child had once been part of that animal body, human and animal becoming one? Perhaps this was even the stag girl's flesh, ripped bloody from her body to provide fresh food for the slayer's breakfast. He couldn't, didn't want to eat it.

The Slayer gave up and instead offered Adam bread. She even freed one of his hands so he could feed himself. While he was eating, she took the caged fox out of the pens and placed it on the table next to Adam. The fox watched the boy almost as if he knew what was coming. As they looked at each other, the Slayer began to gather everything she needed. There were blades and saws, swabs and bandages, long needles and long black threads, tubes and vials, and a jar of clear, viscous lotion. She attached bellows to some hoses—"to keep the blood flowing, just in case"—and adjusted the ties to fit the fox's small legs.

"So what do you think of your new body to come?" she said to Adam after her preparations were complete. "It is a fine fox, young and swift."

The fox tried to bite the wire of his cage, revealing sharp white teeth.

"What are you going to do with my body and his head?" Adam asked.

"I will dry your meat and add it to my winter supply. I have found that while it is possible to successfully fuse a child's head to an animal's body, the converse is not true. The animal brains cannot adapt to the new bodies. They can't move properly and have bad prey. In the beginning I would release them for fun and nothing else, but now I don't even waste my time on it. Still, they're out in the woods, the ones that survived. They are sickly creatures. Sometimes, out of pity, I kill them when they cross my path.”

"I've been thinking about what you said last night," Adam said carefully, "about how all children dream of being animals."

"And isn't it true?" asked the Slayer.

"I think so," Adam said. "I've always wanted to be a horse."

The Slayer looked interested.

"And why a horse?"

"In the stories I read when I was little, I met a creature called a centaur. It was half horse and half man. Instead of a horse's neck, it had a man's torso, allowing it to hold a bow in its hands. It was beautiful and strong, and it was the perfect hunter, combining the power and speed of a horse with the dexterity and cunning of a man. You were quick on your horse yesterday, but you were not yet one with your horse. I mean, doesn't your horse sometimes stumble or move in a way you didn't expect? My father rode horses when he was a boy and he told me that even the best riders can be unsaddled. If I were a centaur I would be the best of horse and man in one, and if I hunted,

The Slayer looked from the fox to Adam and then back again. She turned her back on him and went to her desk. She found a piece of paper and a quill and began to draw. From where he sat, Adam saw diagrams and figures and the outlines of horses and men drawn with all the care of an artist. He didn't bother the Slayer. He just watched her patiently, and when he looked at the fox, he found that he was watching her too. So boy and fox remained together in anticipation until at last the huntress' work was done.

She, Violet, returned to the large operating tables and, without another word, re-cuffed Adam's free hand so that he could not move. He felt a moment of panic. Perhaps his plan hadn't worked and she was now about to operate on him, severing his head and transplanting it into the body of a wild animal to create a new being out of blood, ointment and agony. Would she decapitate him with a single blow of the ax, or cut and saw through gristle and bone? Would she give him something to put him to sleep so that before he closed his eyes he would be one thing and when he woke up he would be quite another, or was there a part of her that enjoyed inflicting pain? As her hands worked him, he wanted to cry out, but he didn't. Instead he was calm

When he was sure, the Slayer put on her hooded cloak and left the house.

After a few minutes had passed, Adam heard the slap of a horse's hooves, and then it faded away as she rode off into the woods, leaving Adam alone with the fox, two beasts about to become one.

Adam dozed for a while, only waking up to the sound of the Slayer returning.

This time the horse's hooves sounded very close. The door to the house opened and the huntress appeared, leading her horse by the reins. At first the horse didn't seem to want to enter, but she spoke softly to it, and eventually it followed her through the door. Adam could see the horse's nose reacting to the smells in the house and he thought his eyes looked panicked and scared. She tied it to a ring in the wall and then approached Adam.

"I'll make a deal with you," she said. "I've been thinking about that creature, that centaur. You are right: such an animal would be the perfect hunter. i want to become one If you help me, I give you my word that I will set you free.”

"How do I know you won't kill me once you're a centaur?" Adam asked.

"I will destroy my bow and arrows and I will draw you a map that will lead you back to the road. Even if I chose to pursue you, what threat would I pose without a bow to hunt with? In time I will make more, but by then you will be long gone, and if you ever walk through my forest again I will grant you free passage in appreciation of all you have done for me.”

Then the Slayer leaned forward and whispered something in Adam's ear. "But if you're not willing to help me, then I'll make you one with the fox, and I guarantee you won't survive this day. I'll chase you through these woods until you're fading from exhaustion, and when you can't walk I'll skin you alive and carry you through the cold winter days. You can live or die. It's your decision."

"I want to live," Adam said.

"Then we agree," said the Slayer. With that, she fed her bow and arrows into the fire and drew Adam a detailed map of the forest, showing him the way back to the road, which he carefully tucked into his shirt. The Slayer then told him what to do. She brought from the stable a pair of huge blades, heavy and sharp as guillotines, and then hoisted them over the operating tables with a system of ropes and pulleys. The Slayer adjusted one of these to cut her body in half as it fell, then showed Adam how to apply the ointment immediately so she wouldn't bleed to death before her torso could be attached to the horse's body. She went through the procedures with him over and over until he knew them by heart. Then the huntress stripped naked, took a long,

There was a lot of blood at first, but Adam and the Slayer quickly poured the ointment over the red, exposed flesh on the horse's neck, the wounds smoking and hissing as the mixture did its work. Immediately the discharges from the veins and arteries stopped. The horse's body lay on the ground, its heart still beating as its head lay nearby, its eyes rolling in their sockets, its tongue hanging out of its mouth.

"We don't have much longer," said the Slayer. "Hurry up!"

It lay on the table under the blade. Adam tried not to look at her nakedness, instead concentrating on preparing to trigger the blade as he had been ordered. As he checked the ropes again, the Slayer grabbed his arm. In her right hand she held a sharp knife.

"If you try to run away or betray me, this knife will leave my hand and find your body before you are an arm's length from me. Do you understand?"

Adam nods. One of his ankles was tied to the table leg. He couldn't run far, even if he wanted to take his chances. The Slayer released her grip on him. Beside her stood one of the glass jars with the miracle ointment. It would be Adam's job to pour it over her wounded body and then heave her off the table onto the floor. From there he would help her crawl to the horse. Once the two wounds touched, he would have to pour more ointment on them, which would result in the huntress and horse merging and creating a living being.

"Then do it and be quick."

Adam stepped back. The rope holding the guillotine in place was taut. To avoid accidents, he simply had to sever it with his sword blade, causing it to fall down on the Slayer, splitting her body in two.

"Ready?" asked Adam.

He laid the blade on the rope. The Slayer gritted her teeth.

"Yes. Do it! Do it now!"

Adam lifted the blade over his head and brought it down onto the rope with all his might. The rope snapped and the blade fell, cutting the Slayer in two. She screamed in pain and writhed on the table as blood spurted from both halves of her being.

"The ointment!" She cried. "Apply quickly!"

But instead, Adam raised the blade again and cut off the Slayer's right hand. It fell to the ground, the knife still in its grip. Finally, with a third punch, Adam snapped the rope holding him to the table. He jumped over the horse's body and ran for the door, all the while the Slayer's screams of anger and pain filled the room. The door was locked, but the key stayed in the keyhole. Adam tried to turn it but it wouldn't move.

Behind him, the purple screams of the Slayer, followed by the smell of burning. Adam turned and saw that the large wound in her torso was smoking and bubbling as the ointment healed her injuries. Her right arm was also covered with the ointment and she poured more on the ground so that it pooled over the wrist of her severed hand and the wound healed. Using the stump and the strength of her left hand, she forced herself off the table onto the floor.

"Come back!" she hissed. "We are not finished yet. I will eat you alive."

She touched her stump with her right hand and poured ointment over both. Instantly the two halves reconnected and she raised the knife to her mouth and clamped the blade between her teeth. The slayer began to drag herself across the floor, getting closer and closer to Adam. Her hand touched the bottom of his pant leg as the key turned in the lock and the door opened. Adam pulled his leg free and ran outside, then stopped.

He wasn't alone.

The clearing in front of the house was filled with a collection of creatures with the bodies of children and the heads of beasts. There were foxes and deer and hares and weasels, the features of the smaller animals set incongruously on the larger human shoulders, their necks constricted by the action of the ointment. The hybrids moved awkwardly, as if they had no control over their own limbs. They shuffled and staggered, their faces filled with confusion and pain. They slowly approached the house just as the Slayer dragged herself through the door onto the grass. The knife fell out of her mouth and she grabbed it in her fist.

"What are you doing here, you evil creatures? Get away from this place. Sneak around in the shadows again.”

But the beasts didn't respond. They just kept trudging forward, eyes on the Slayer. The Slayer looked up at Adam. She was afraid now.

"Bring me back inside," she said. "Quick, before they get to me. I forgive you for everything you've done. You can go. Just don't leave me here with… them.”

Adam shook his head. He walked away from her like a creature with a boy's body, but a squirrel's head nudged his nose in his direction.

"Don't leave me," shouted the Slayer. She was almost surrounded now, the knife slashing weakly as the beasts she had created circled her.

"Help me!" she called to Adam. "Please help me."

And then the beasts fell upon them, tearing and biting, ripping and tearing, as Adam turned from the horrid sight and fled into the forest.

Chapter 18

By Raymond

Adam walked through the forest for many hours trying to follow the Slayer's map as best he could. Traces were marked on it that had either ceased to exist or had never existed at all. Cairns that had served as primitive signposts for generations were often obscured by tall grass, overgrown by moss, or torn down by passing animals or vengeful travelers, forcing Adam time and again to return over old ground, or smite his sword at it Undergrowth to find the markers. From time to time he wondered if the Slayer had intended to trick him by constructing a false map, a ruse that would have trapped him in her forest and made easy prey for her once she became a centaur.

Then suddenly he saw a thin white line between the trees, and moments later he was standing at the edge of the forest, the road in front of him. Adam had no idea where he was. He could have been back at the Dwarf Crossing or further east along the road, but he didn't care. He was just glad to be out of the forest and back on the path that would lead him to the king's castle.

He walked on until the dim light of this world began to fade, then he sat down on a rock and ate a piece of dry bread and some of the dried fruit the dwarves had pressed on him, washed down with cool water from the little stream that always walked beside the path.

He wondered what his father and Violet were doing. He assumed they must be very worried about him by now, but he had no idea what would happen if they looked into the sunken garden, or even if anything was left of the garden itself. He remembered the fire from the flaming bomber lighting up the night sky and the desperate roar of the plane's engines as it descended. It must have torn the garden apart when it struck, scattering bricks and airplane parts across the lawn and setting fire to the trees beyond. Perhaps the crack in the wall that Adam had escaped through had collapsed after the crash, and the path from his world to this one was no longer there. There would be no way for his father to know

Not for the first time, Adam wondered if he was doing the right thing by walking further and further away from the door through which he had entered this world. If his father or others found a way and looked for him, wouldn't they end up in the same place? The woodcutter seemed so sure that it would be best to travel to the king, but the woodcutter was gone. He couldn't save himself from the wolves and he couldn't protect Adam. The boy was alone.

Adam looked down the street. He couldn't go back now. The wolves were probably still looking for him, and even if he found his way to the abyss he would have to find another bridge. There was nothing left but to keep going, hoping that the king might be able to help him. If his father went looking for him, well, Adam hoped he would protect himself. But in case he or anyone else came here, Adam took a flat rock by the side of the stream and with a sharp stone carved his name and an arrow in the direction he was going. Beneath it he wrote: "To see the king."

He made a small cairn at the side of the road, just like those used to mark the forest paths, and placed his message on it. It was the best he could do.

As he was packing away the remains of his meal, he saw a figure on a white horse approaching. Adam was tempted to hide, but he knew if he could see the rider, the rider could see him too. The figure drew closer and Adam could see that he wore a silver breastplate decorated with two sun symbols and he had a silver helmet on his head. A sword hung from one side of his belt, and a bow and quiver of arrows rested on his back: the weapons of choice in this world, it seemed. A shield hung from his saddle, also bearing the symbol of the twin suns. When he was next to Adam, he pulled his horse up and looked down at the boy. He reminded Adam of the woodcutter because the rider's face had something similar.

"And where are you going, young man?" he asked Adam.

"I'll see the king," Adam said.

"The king?" The rider didn't look very impressed. "What use would the king be to anyone?"

"I am trying to return home. I was told the king has a book and this book could be a way for me to go back to where I come from.”

"And where would that be?"

"England," Adam said.

"I don't think I've heard that name before," said the rider. "I can only assume it's far from here. Everything is far from here,” he added almost casually.

He shifted slightly on his horse and looked around, scanning the trees, the hills beyond, and the road ahead and behind them.

"This is not a place for a boy to walk around alone," he said.

"I hit the abyss two days ago," Adam said. "There were wolves, and the man who helped me, the woodcutter, was..."

Adam broke off. He didn't want to say aloud what had become of the woodcutter.

Again he saw his friend collapse under the weight of the wolf pack and the trail of blood leading into the forest.

"You have crossed the abyss?" said the rider. "Tell me, was it you who cut the ropes?"

Adam tried to read the expression on the rider's face. He didn't want to get in trouble, and he figured that by destroying the bridge, he must have done infinite damage. Still, he didn't want to lie, and something told him the rider would confront him if he did.

"I had to," he said. "The wolves came. I had no choice."

The rider smiled. "The trolls were very unhappy," he said. "They must rebuild the bridge now if they are to continue their game, and the Shylock's will be harassing them at every turn."

Adam shrugged. He didn't feel sorry for the trolls. Forcing travelers to risk their lives to solve a silly riddle was not a decent way to behave. Rather, he hoped the Shylock's would decide to eat some of the trolls for dinner, although he didn't think trolls would taste very good.

"I'm from the north, so your antics didn't thwart my plans," said the rider. "But it seems to me that a young man who manages to irritate trolls and escape both Shylock's and wolves might be worth having around. I make a bargain with you: I'll take you to the king if you accompany me for a while. I have a job to do and I need a squire to help me. It shouldn't take more than a few days' service, and in return I will see to your safe passage to the royal court."

It didn't seem to Adam that he had much choice in the matter. He didn't think the wolves would forgive him for the death he caused at the bridge, and by now they must have found another way to cross the ravine. They were probably already on to him. He was lucky on the bridge. Maybe he won't be so lucky a second time. Traveling alone on this road, like the Slayer, he was always at the mercy of those who wished to harm him.

"Then I'll come with you," he said. "Thanks."

"Good," said the rider. "My name is Raymond."

"And I'm Adam. are you a knight?”

"No, I'm a mercenary, nothing more."

Raymond reached down and offered his hand to Adam. When Adam took it, he was immediately lifted off the ground and hoisted onto the back of Raymond's horse.

"You look tired," Raymond said, "and I can afford to squander a little dignity by sharing my horse with you."

He tapped his heels on the horse's flanks and they broke away at a trot.

Adam was not used to sitting on a horse. It was difficult for him to adjust to her movements, so his butt bounced against the saddle with painful regularity. It wasn't until Scylla – for that was the horse's name - that he started to gallop that he began to enjoy the experience. It was almost as if she were drifting down the street, and even with the added burden of Adam on her back, Scylla's hooves were eating away at the ground beneath her feet. For the first time, Adam began to fear wolves a little less.

They had been riding for some time when the landscape around them began to change. The grass was charred, the ground cracked and churned up as if from a great explosion. Trees had been felled, the trunks sharpened, and rammed into the ground in what appeared to be an attempt to mount a defense against an enemy. Scattered across the earth were pieces of armor, shattered shields and shattered swords. It seemed as if they were staring at the aftermath of a great battle, but Adam could see no bodies, though there was blood on the ground and the muddy puddles that dotted the battlefield were red rather than brown.

And right in the middle was something that didn't belong there, something so strange that Scylla stopped and jumped one of her hooves on the ground. Even Raymond stared at it with undisguised fear. Only Adam knew what it was.

It was a Mark V tank, a relic from WWI. His squat six-pounder gun was still sticking out of the turret on his left, but it was unmarked. In fact, it was so clean, so pristine, it looked to Adam like it had just rolled out of a factory somewhere.

"What is it?" Raymond asked. "You know?"

"It's a tank," Adam said.

Realizing that that probably wouldn't help Raymond understand the nature of things any better, he added: "It's a machine, like a big, um, covered cart for men to travel in. This' - he pointed to the six-pounder - 'is??a rifle, a kind of cannon.'

Adam climbed onto the tank's hull, using the rivets as handholds and footholds. The hatch was open. Inside, beside the driver's seat, he could see the braking and transmission system and the workings of the large Ricardo engine, but there were no men operating it. Once again it seemed like it had never been used. From his perch on the tank, Adam looked around and couldn't see a trace of tracks in the muddy field. It was as if the Mark V had just appeared out of nowhere.

He climbed down from it and jumped the last few feet, landing with a splash on the ground. Blood and mud immediately stained his trousers, and he was reminded again that they stood in a place where men had been injured and perhaps died.

"What happened here?" he asked Raymond.

The rider shifted in the saddle, still uncomfortable with the armor.

"I don't know," he said. "Kind of a fight, judging by the signs. The fight was new. I can still smell blood in the air, but where are the bodies of the fallen?

And if they were buried, where are the graves?”

A voice spoke behind them. It read: "You're looking in the wrong place, travelers. There are no bodies in the field. They are… somewhere else.”

Raymond turned Scylla over, drawing his sword as he did so. He helped Adam climb up behind him. Once settled, Adam grabbed his own small sword and drew it from its scabbard.

At the side of the road stood the remains of an old wall, all that was left of a larger structure long gone from the world. An old man was sitting on the stones. He was completely bald, and thick blue veins ran across his exposed scalp like rivers on a map of a cold, desolate place. His eyes were riddled with blood vessels and the sockets seemed too large for them, leaving the red flesh beneath his skin hanging loose and exposed beneath each eyeball. His nose was long and his lips were pale and dry. He wore an old brown robe, more like a monk's robe, that ended just above his ankles. His feet were bare and his toenails were yellow.

"Who fought here?" Raymond asked.

"I didn't ask their names," said the old man. "They came and died."

"For what purpose? They must have fought for some reason.”

"Without a doubt. I'm sure they believed their cause was the right one. Unfortunately, it didn't."

The smell of the battlefield made Adam uneasy and increased his feeling that the old man couldn't be trusted. The way he now spoke of the "she" who had done this, and the way he smiled at her mention, made it very clear to Adam that the men who had died here were very, very bad indeed had died.

"And who is she'?" Raymond asked.

"She's the beast, the creature that lives beneath the ruins of a tower deep in the forest. She slept for a long time, but now she's awake again.” The old man pointed to the trees behind him. “They were the king's men trying to maintain control of a dying kingdom, and they paid the price. They lined up here and were overwhelmed. They retreated to the shelter of the forest behind me, dragging their dead and injured, and there she prevailed with them.”

Adam cleared his throat. "How did the tank get here?" he asked. "It's not part of it."

The old man grinned, revealing purple gums with ruined teeth. "Maybe like you, boy," he replied. "You don't belong here either."

Raymond urged Scylla toward the woods, keeping his distance from the old man.

Scylla was a brave horse, and after only a moment's hesitation, she did as her master ordered.

The smell of blood and decay grew stronger. Ahead lay a grove of broken, stunted trees, and Adam knew that was the real source of the stench. Raymond told Adam to dismount, then instructed him to lean his back against a tree and keep an eye on the old man, who paused on the small wall and watched them over his shoulder.

Adam knew Raymond didn't want him to see what lay behind the bushes, but he couldn't resist the urge to look when he heard the mercenary part the bushes to enter the grove. Adam caught a glimpse of bodies hanging from trees, the remains little more than bloodied bones. He quickly looked away –

And stared the old man straight in the eyes. Adam had no idea how he had moved so quickly and so quietly from his place against the wall, but now he was here, so close that the boy could smell his breath. It smelled like sour berries.

Adam held the sword tightly in his hand, but the old man didn't even blink.

"You're a long way from home, boy," he said. He raised his right hand and touched his fingers to a single strand of Adam's hair. Adam shook his head angrily and nudged the old man. It was like hitting a wall. The old man may have looked frail, but he was much stronger than Adam.

"Can you still hear your mother calling?" said the old man. He put his left hand to his ear as if trying to hear the sound of a voice in the air. "Da-vid," he sang in a high-pitched voice. "Oh David."

"Stop it!" said Adam. "You stop now."

"Or are you doing what?" said the old man. "A little boy far, far from home, crying for his dead mother. What can you do?"

"I'm going to hurt you," Adam said. "I mean it that way."

The old man spat on the floor. Where the spit landed, the grass sizzled. The liquid expanded and formed a frothy pool on the floor.

And in the pool Adam saw his father and Violet and the baby Tommie. They all laughed, even Tommie, who was thrown high in the air by his father, just like Adam had been.

"They don't miss you, you know," said the old man. "They don't miss you one bit. They're glad you're gone. You blamed your father for reminding him of your mother, but he now has a new family and with you out of the way he doesn't have to worry about you or your feelings anymore. He's already forgotten you, just like he's forgotten your mother."

The picture in the pool changed and Adam saw the bedroom his father shared with Violet. Violet and his father stood by the bed and kissed. Then, while Adam watched, they lay down together. Adam looked away. His face burned and he felt a great anger well up in him. He didn't want to believe it, and yet the proof lay before him in a puddle of steaming spit spurting from a poisonous old man's mouth.

"See," said the old man. "There's nothing you can go back to now."

He laughed and Adam slashed at him with his sword. He wasn't even aware that he was doing it. He was just so angry and so sad. He had never felt so betrayed.

Now it was as if something else, something outside of him, had taken control of his body so that he seemed to have no will of his own. His arm turned purple of its own accord and slashed at the old man, tearing through his brown robes and drawing a bloody line across the skin beneath.

The old man withdrew. He put his fingers to the wound on his chest. They came back red. His face started to change. It straightened and took on the shape of a crescent moon, its chin curved up so sharply that it almost touched the bridge of its crooked nose. Tufts of coarse black hair sprouted from his skull. He threw the robe aside and Adam saw a green and gold suit tied with an ornate gold belt and a gold dagger curving like a snake's body. There was a tear in the suit's fabric where Adam's sword had severed the beautiful fabric. Finally, a flat black disc appeared in the man's hand. He flicked it in the air and it became a crooked hat which he put on his head.

"You," Adam said. "You were in my room."

The dishonest man hissed at Adam, and the dagger at his waist twisted and writhed as if it really were a snake. His face was twisted with anger and pain.

"I walked through your dreams," he said. "I know everything you think, everything you feel, everything you fear. I know what a nasty, jealous, hateful kid you are. And despite all that, I still wanted to help you. I wanted to help you find your mother, but then you cut me. Ooooooh, you're a terrible boy. You could feel very sorry for me, so sorry you wish you had never been born, but..."

The tone of his voice suddenly changed. Things got calm and reasonable, which scared Adam even more.

"I won't because you will need me. I can take you to whoever you are looking for and then I can take you both home. I'm the only one who really can. And I will only ask for one small thing, so small that you won't even miss it..."

But before he could continue, he was disturbed by the sound of Raymond's return.

The dishonest man wagged his finger at Adam. "We'll talk again, and maybe you'll be a little more grateful then!"

The dishonest man began to spin in circles, and he spun so fast and so violently that he dug a hole in the ground and disappeared from view, leaving only the brown robe behind. His saliva had dried in the ground and the images from Adam's world were no longer visible.

Adam felt Raymond pull up beside him and the two peered into the dark hole left by the dishonest man.

"Who or what was that?" Raymond asked.

"He dressed up as the old man," Adam said. "He told me he could help me get home and that he was the only one who could. I think he was the one the woodcutter was talking about. He called him a trickster.”

Raymond saw the blood dripping from the blade of Adam's sword.

"Did you cut it?"

"I was angry," Adam said. "It happened before I could stop myself."

Raymond took the sword from Adam's hands, plucked a large green leaf from a bush and used it to clean the blade.

"You have to learn to control your impulses," he said. "A sword wants to be used. It wants to draw blood. That is why it was forged, and it has no other purpose in the world. If you don't control it, it will control you."

He gave Adam the sword back. "Next time you see that man, don't just cut him, kill him," Raymond said. "Whatever he says, he doesn't mean well by you."

They went together to Scylla who was nibbling on the grass.

"What did you see back there?" Adam asked.

"Similar to what you saw, I suppose," Raymond said. He shook his head slightly annoyed that Adam had ignored his instructions. "Whatever killed those men sucked the flesh from their bones and left their remains hanging from the trees. The forest is full of corpses as far as the eye can see. The ground is still wet with blood, but they injured this 'beast' or whatever it is before they died.

There is a putrid substance on the ground, black and putrid, and the tips of some of their spears and swords have melted from it. If it can be wounded, it can be killed, but that takes more than a mercenary and a boy. It's none of our business. We ride on.”

"But..." Adam said. He wasn't sure what to say. That wasn't the case in the stories.

Mercenaries and knights slew dragons and monsters. They were not afraid and did not flee the threat of death.

Raymond was already astride Scylla. His hand was outstretched, waiting for Adam to take it. "If you have something to say, say it, Adam."

Adam tried to find the right words. He didn't mean to offend Raymond.

"These men have all died, and whatever killed them is still alive, even if it's wounded," he said. "It's going to kill again, isn't it? More people will die.”

"Maybe," Raymond said.

"So shouldn't you do something?"

"What would you suggest: that we hunt it down with a sword and a half to our names? This life is full of threats and dangers, Adam. We face those we must face, and there will be times when we must choose to act for a greater good, even as we put ourselves at risk, but we do not lay down our lives unnecessarily. Each of us has only one life to live and one life to give. It's no honor to throw it away where there's no hope. Come on now. The twilight is getting thicker. We must find shelter for the night.”

Adam hesitated a moment longer, then took Raymond's hand and was hoisted into the saddle. He thought of all those dead and wondered what kind of creature could do them such damage. The tank was still in the middle of the battlefield, stranded and alien. It had somehow found its way from its world to this one, but unmanned and seemingly unpowered.

As they left it, he remembered the visions in the dishonest man's saliva and the words spoken to him: "They don't miss you one bit. They're glad you're gone."

It couldn't be true, could it? And yet Adam had seen his father in love with Tommie and the way he looked at Violet and held her hand as they walked and he guessed what they did together when the bedroom door closed every night.

What if he found a way to return home and they didn't want him back? What if they really were happier without him?

But the dishonest man had told him that he could make things right, that he could give him his mother back and bring them both home in return for a small favor. And Adam wondered what that favor could be, even as Raymond spurred Scylla on and urged her to keep going.

Meanwhile, far to the west, out of sight and hearing, a triumphant chorus of Violet soars into the air.

The wolves had found another bridge across the abyss.

Chapter 19

From Raymond's Tale and the Wolf Scout

Raymond was reluctant to stop for the night, desperate to continue his quest and worried about the wolves chasing Adam, but Scylla was tired and Adam was so exhausted he could barely grab Raymond's waist. Eventually they came to the ruins of what looked like a church and there Raymond agreed to rest for a few hours. He wouldn't allow a fire, although it was cold, but he gave Adam a blanket to wrap himself in and he allowed him to sip from a silver bottle. The liquid inside burned Adam's throat before filling him with warmth. He lay down and stared at the sky. The spire of the church loomed over him, the windows blank as the eyes of the dead.

"The new religion," Raymond said disparagingly. “The king tried to get others to follow him when he still had the will and the power to enforce that will.

Now that he broods in his castle, his chapels lie empty.”

"What do you believe in?" asked Adam.

"I believe in those I love and trust. Everything else is stupid. This god is as empty as his church. His followers prefer to credit him with all their happiness, but when he ignores their pleas or makes them suffer, they just say he is beyond their comprehension and abandon themselves to his will. What kind of god is that?”

Raymond spoke with such anger and bitterness that Adam wondered if he had once followed the "new religion" only to turn his back on it when something bad happened to him. Adam had felt this way himself at times as he sat in church in the weeks and months after his mother's death and listened to the priest speak of God and how much he loved his people. It was difficult for him to equate the god of the priest with the one who caused his mother to die slowly and painfully.

"And who do you love?" he asked Raymond.

But Raymond pretended not to hear him.

"Tell me about your home," he said. "Tell me about your people. Talk to me about anything but false gods.”

And so Adam told Raymond of his mother and father, of the sunken garden, of Joseph Redford and his old books, of hearing his mother's voice and following her to this strange land, and finally of Violet and Tommie's arrival. As he spoke, he couldn't hide his resentment towards Violet and her baby. He was embarrassed and felt more like a kid than he wanted to appear in front of Raymond.

"That's hard indeed," Raymond said. "So much has been taken from you, but perhaps so much has also been given to you."

He said no more for fear the boy would think he was preaching to him. Instead, Raymond leaned against Scylla's saddle and told Adam a story.

Raymond's first story

Once upon a time there was an old king who promised his only son to a princess in a far-off land. He said goodbye to his son and entrusted him with a golden chalice that had belonged to his family for many generations. This, he told his son, would be part of his dowry for the princess and a symbol of the bond between her family and her own. A servant was assigned to travel with the prince and tend to his every need, and so the two men set out together for the princess's lands.

After they had traveled for many days, the servant, jealous of the prince, stole the chalice from him while he was sleeping and dressed himself in the prince's finest clothes. When the prince awoke, the servant, threatening his own death and the deaths of all those he loved, vowed to him that he would not tell anyone what had happened and told him that in the future the prince would serve him in all things. And so the prince became the servant and the servant became the prince, and thus they came to the princess's castle.

When they arrived the false prince was treated with great ceremony and the real prince was given a job as a pig keeper because the false prince told the princess that he was a bad and unruly servant and could not be trusted. So her father sent the true prince out to herd pigs and sleep in the mud and straw while the impostor ate the best food and laid his head on the softest of pillows.

But the king, being a wise old man, heard others speak well of the swineherd, how gracious his manners were, and how kind he was to the animals under his care and to the servants he met, and he went to him day and asked him to tell him something about himself. But the true prince, bound by his vows, told the king that he could not obey his command. The king became angry, for he was not accustomed to disobeying, but the true prince fell on his knees and said: "I am bound by a death vow not to tell anyone the truth about myself. I beg your pardon, for I mean no disrespect to Her Majesty, but a man's word is his bond, and without it he is no better than an animal."

So the king thought for a while and then said to the true prince: “I see that the secret you hold is troubling you, and perhaps you would feel happier if you spoke it out loud. Why don't you tell the cold hearth in the servants' quarters, it will make it easier for you to rest.”

The true prince did as the king asked, but the king hid in the darkness behind the hearth and heard the true prince's story. That night he held a grand banquet, for the princess was to marry the impostor the next day, and he invited the true prince to sit as a masked guest on one side of his throne, and on the other side he placed the false prince. And he said to the false prince, "I have a test of your wisdom, if you are willing to accept it." The false prince readily agreed, and the king told him the story of an impostor who impersonated another man and consequently claiming all the riches and privileges due to another. But the false prince was so arrogant and so sure of his position

"What would you do with a man like that?" asked the king.

"I would strip him naked and put him in a barrel studded with nails," said the false prince. "Then I would tie the barrel behind four horses and drag it through the streets until the man inside was ripped to death."

"This shall be your punishment," said the king, "for this is your crime."

And the true prince was restored to his position and he married the princess and lived happily ever after, while the false prince was torn to pieces in a barrel of nails and no one cried for him and no one called his name after he had gone.

When the story ended, Raymond looked at Adam.

"What do you think of my story?" he asked.

Adam's brow was furrowed. "I think I've read a story like this before," he said.

"But my story was about a princess, not a prince. However, the ending was the same.”

"And did you like the ending?"

"I did that when I was little. I thought the fake prince deserved that. I liked it when the wicked were punished with death.”

"And now?"

"It seems cruel."

"But he would have done the same to another if it was in his power."

"I think so, but that doesn't make the penalty right."

"So you would have shown mercy?"

"If I were the real prince, then yes, I think so."

"But would you have forgiven him?"

Adam considered the question.

"No, he did something wrong, so he deserved punishment. I would have made him herd the pigs and live as the real prince was forced to live, and if he ever hurt any of the animals or any other person, the same thing would be done to him.”

Raymond nodded his approval. “That is a fitting punishment and merciful. Sleep now," he said. "We have wolves snapping at our heels and you need to rest while you can."

Adam did as he was told. With his head on his backpack, he closed his eyes and fell fast asleep.

He did not dream, waking only once before the false dawn that heralded the day. He opened his eyes and thought he heard Raymond talking quietly to someone. Glancing over at the mercenary, he saw that he was staring at a small silver medallion. Inside was a picture of a man younger than Raymond and very handsome. It was this image that Raymond whispered, and while Adam couldn't make out everything that was said, the word "love" was clearly pronounced more than once.

Embarrassed, Adam pulled his covers closer to his head to block out the words until sleep returned.

Raymond was already on his feet and moving when Adam woke up again. Adam shared some of his food with the mercenary even though there was little left. He washed himself in a creek and almost started performing one of his counting routines, but he paused, remembering the woodcutter's advice, and instead cleaned his sword and sharpened his blade on a rock. He checked that his belt was still strong and the loop holding the scabbard in place undamaged, then asked Raymond to teach him how to saddle Scylla and tighten her reins and bridles.

Raymond did this and also taught him how to examine the horse's legs and hooves for signs of injury or discomfort.

Adam wanted to ask the mercenary about the picture in the locket, but he didn't want Raymond to think he spied on him that night. Instead, he asked the other question that had been bothering him since the two had met, and in doing so received an answer to the mystery of the man in the locket.

"Raymond," Adam asked as the mercenary placed the saddle back on Scylla's back. "What task have you set yourself?"

Raymond pulled the straps taut around the horse's belly.

"I had a boyfriend," he said without looking at Adam. "His name was Michael. He wanted to prove himself to those who doubted his courage and spoke badly of him behind his back. He heard the story of a woman tied to sleep by a sorceress in a chamber full of treasure, and he vowed to release her from her curse. He left my country to find her, but he never returned. He was closer to me than a brother. I swore that if that had been his fate, I would find out what had happened to him and avenge his death. The castle in which it lies is said to move with the cycles of the moon. It now rests in a place no more than two days' ride from here. After we discover the truth behind its walls, I'll take you to the king."

Adam climbed onto Scylla's back, and then Raymond led the horse back to the road by the reins, checking the ground in front of him for any hidden hollows that might injure his horse. Adam gradually got used to the horse and the rhythm of its movements, although he was still in pain from the long ride the day before. He held on to the saddle's horn and they left the ruins of the church as the first faint light of morning rasped the sky.

But they did not go unnoticed. In a scrub behind the ruins, a pair of dark eyes watched her. The wolf's fur was very dark, and its face was more human than animal in character. It was the fruit of the union between a loup and a she-wolf, but it favored its mother in appearance and instinct. It was also the largest and fiercest of its kind, a sort of mutant the size of a pony with jaws that could enclose a man's chest. The scout had been sent by the pack to look for signs of the cub. It had picked up his scent on the road and followed him to a small house deep in the forest. It was almost over there, for the dwarves had set traps around their house: deep pits with sharpened poles at the base, camouflaged with sticks and sods. Only the wolf's reflexes had kept it from falling to its death, and it had been more cautious in its approaches thereafter. It had found the scent of the boy mingled with that of the gnomes, and had then been tracked back to the road, losing it for a while, until it reached a small stream, where the boy's trail was replaced by the strong scent of a horse became. This told the wolf that the boy was no longer walking and probably not alone. It marked the spot with its urine, as it had marked each step of its hunt, so the pack could more easily follow when it came. It had found the scent of the boy mingled with that of the gnomes, and had then been tracked back to the road, losing it for a while, until it reached a small stream, where the boy's trail was replaced by the strong scent of a horse became. This told the wolf that the boy was no longer walking and probably not alone. It marked the spot with its urine, as it had marked each step of its hunt, so the pack could more easily follow when it came. It had found the scent of the boy mingled with that of the gnomes, and had then been tracked back to the road, losing it for a while, until it reached a small stream, where the boy's trail was replaced by the strong scent of a horse became. This told the wolf that the boy was no longer walking and probably not alone. It marked the spot with its urine, as it had marked each step of its hunt, so the pack could more easily follow when it came.

The scout knew what Raymond and Adam did not: the pack had halted its advance shortly after crossing the chasm, for more wolves arrived to join it in its march to the king's castle. The scout had been tasked by Lobo with finding the boy. If possible, it should bring him back into the pack for Lobo to deal with. If this could not be achieved, it was to kill him and return with only one mark – the boy's head - to prove that the act had been committed. The scout had already decided that the head would do. It would feed on the rest of the boy, for it had been a long time since it had eaten fresh human flesh.

The wolf hybrid had spotted the boy's footprints again on the battlefield, along with a stench of something unknown that stung his delicate nose and made his eyes water. The starving scout had fed on the bones of one of the mercenaries, sucking the marrow from deep within him, and his belly was now the fullest it had been in many months. With renewed vigor, it had followed the horse's trail again, arriving at the ruins just in time to see the boy and rider depart.

With its massive hind legs, the scout was capable of long, high leaps, and its bulk had knocked many riders out of a horse's saddle, forcing it to the ground and allowing the scout to rip its throat out with its long, sharp fang. Taking the boy would be easy. If the scout timed his leap correctly, he could have the boy in his jaws and tear him to pieces before the rider even realized what was happening.

Then the scout would flee, and if the rider chose to follow, it would drag him straight into the jaws of the waiting pack.

The rider led his horse at a slow pace, carefully crossing low branches and dense thorn bushes. The wolf shadowed her and waited for his chance. There was a fallen tree in front of the rider, and the wolf guessed the horse would pause there for a moment while trying to figure out the best way to get over the obstacle. The wolf would grab the boy if the horse stopped.

It trotted on quietly, passing the horse to give it time to find the best position to strike. He reached the tree and found a slab of stone in the bushes to his right that was perfect for his purpose. Saliva dripped from his jaws, already tasting the boy's blood in his mouth. The horse came into view and the scout tensed, ready to charge.

A sound came from behind the wolf: the faintest touch of metal on stone. It turned to face the threat, but not fast enough. It saw the flash of a blade, and then it burned deep in its throat, so deep it couldn't even utter a sound of pain or surprise. It began to choke on its own blood, its legs giving out under it as it fell to the rock, its eyes bright with panic as it began to die.

Then that brightness began to fade, and the scout's body spasmed and jerked until it lay still.

The dishonest man's face was reflected in the darkness of his pupil. With the blade of his sword he cut off the scout's nose and placed it in a small leather pouch on his belt. It was another trophy for his collection, and its absence would give Lobo and the pack pause when they found her brother's remains. They would know who they were dealing with, oh yes, because no one else mutilated their prey like that. The boy was his and his alone. No wolf would feed on his bones.

So the dishonest watched as Adam and Raymond passed, Scylla halted short of the fallen tree just as the scout expected, and then vaulted over it in a single leap before taking the rider and boy onto the road beyond. Then the dishonest one descended in thorns and thorns and was gone.

Chapter 20

Of the Village and Raymond's Second Tale

Adam AND Raymond didn't meet anyone on the street that morning. It still surprised Adam that so few should walk on it. At least the road was well maintained and it seemed to him that others had to use it to get from here to there.

"Why is it so quiet?" he asked. "Why aren't there any people?"

"Men and women are afraid to travel because this world has become temporarily alien," Raymond said. “You saw what was left of those men yesterday, and I told you about the sleeping woman and the sorceress who binds her. There have always been dangers in these countries and life has never been easy, but now there are new threats and no one can say where they are coming from. Even the king is unsure if the stories from his court are true. They say his time is almost up.”

Raymond raised his right hand and pointed northeast. "Beyond those hills there is a settlement, and that is where we will spend our last night before reaching the castle. Perhaps we can learn more about the woman and the fate of my companion from those who live there.”

After another hour had passed, they encountered a group of men emerging from the forest. The men carried dead rabbits and voles tied to sticks. They were armed with sharpened staffs and short, crude swords. When they saw the horse approaching, they raised their weapons in warning.

"Who are you?" called one. "Do not approach until you identify yourself."

Raymond held Scylla down while they were still out of range of the men's staffs.

"I'm Raymond. This is my squire, Adam. We are heading towards the village hoping to find food and rest there.”

The man who had spoken lowered his sword. "You may find rest," he said, "but little to eat."

He picked up one of the sticks of dead animals. “The fields and forests are almost deserted. That is all we have for two days of hunting and we lost a man for it.”

"How did you lose him?" Raymond asked.

“He brought up the rear. We heard him scream but when we walked back his body was gone.”

"You saw no sign of what took him?" Raymond asked.

"None. Where he had stood the earth was churned up as if a creature had erupted from below, but there was only blood at the top and some filthy stuff that wasn't from any animal we know of. He wasn't the first to fall upon these Wise one died, for we have lost others, but we have yet to see what is responsible. Now we just venture out in droves and wait, for most believe it will soon invade our beds."

Raymond looked down the street in the direction he and Adam had come from.

"We saw the remains of Mercenary's about half a day's ride from here," Raymond said.

"Their regalia show that they were the king's men. They had no luck against this beast, and they were well trained and well armed. Unless your fortifications are high and strong, you may be advised to vacate your homes until the threat passes.”

The man shook his head. “We have farms, cattle. We live where our fathers lived and so did their fathers. We will not give up everything we have worked so hard for.”

Raymond said nothing more, but Adam could almost hear what he was thinking: Then you will die.

Adam and Raymond rode alongside the men, chatting with them and sharing what was left of the alcohol in Raymond's flask. The men were grateful for the kindness and in return acknowledged the changes in the land and the presence of new creatures in the forests and fields, all hostile and hungry. They also talked about the wolves, who had been getting bolder lately. The hunters had caught and killed one during their time in the forest: a loup, an intruder from afar. His fur was immaculately white and he wore sealskin trousers. Before it died, it told them that it had come from the far north and that others would come who would avenge its death at their hands. It was as the woodcutter Adam had said:

As they rounded a bend in the road, the settlement revealed itself to them. It was surrounded by open space where cattle and sheep grazed. A wall of logs, sharpened to points of white, had been erected around it, and raised platforms behind enabled the men to watch all approaches. Thin plumes of smoke rose from the houses inside, and the spire of another church was visible above the crest of the wall. Raymond didn't look happy to see it.

"Maybe they still practice the new religion here," he said softly to Adam. "For the sake of peace, I will not bother you with my views."

A cry rose from the walls as they neared the village, and the gates opened to admit them. Children gathered to greet their fathers and women came to kiss sons and husbands. They stared at Raymond and Adam curiously, but before anyone had a chance to question them, a woman began wailing and crying because she couldn't find the one she was looking for among the hunters. She was young and very pretty, and between her sobs she kept calling out a name: "Ethan! Ethan!" Ethan!”

The leader of the hunters, whose name was Fletcher, approached Adam and Raymond. His wife stayed nearby, grateful that her husband had returned safely.

"Ethan was the man we lost along the way," he said. "You should have married. Now she doesn't even have a grave to mourn for him."

The other women gathered around the crying girl and tried to comfort her. They took her to one of the small houses nearby and the door closed behind them.

"Come on," Fletcher said. “I have a stable behind my house. You can sleep there if you want and I'll feed you from my table for tonight. After that I shall have little enough to support my own family and you must ride on.”

Raymond and Adam thanked him and followed him through the narrow streets until they came to a wooden house whose walls were painted white. Fletcher showed them the stable and showed them where to find water and fresh straw and some stale oatmeal for Scylla. Raymond removed Scylla's saddle and made sure she was comfortable before he and Adam washed in a trough. Her clothes stank, and although Raymond had other clothes to wear, Adam didn't have any. Hearing this, Fletcher's wife Adam brought some of her son's old clothes, for he was now seventeen and had a wife and son of his own. Feeling much better than he had in a long time, Adam took Raymond to Fletcher's house where the table was set and Fletcher and his family were waiting for them.

Fletcher's son looked very much like his father, for he also had long red hair, although his beard was thinner and lacked the gray that characterized the older man's. His wife was small and dark and spoke little, all her attention focused on the baby in her arms. Fletcher had two other children, both girls. They were younger than Adam, though not by much, and they gave him sly looks and chuckled softly.

After Raymond and Adam were seated, Fletcher closed his eyes, bowed his head, and thanked them for the meal—Adam noticed that Raymond wasn't closing his eyes or praying—before inviting everyone at the table to eat.

The conversation shifted from village affairs to the hunting trip and Ethan's disappearance before finally getting to Raymond and Adam and the purpose of their trip.

"You're not the first to come by here on your way to the Thorn Tower," Fletcher said after Raymond told him about his search for her.

"Why do you call it that?" Raymond asked.

"Because that's what it is: it's completely surrounded by thorny creepers. Even if you approach its walls, you risk being torn apart. You will need more than one breastplate to breach them."

"So you saw it?"

“Perhaps half a month ago a shadow passed over the village. Looking up to see what it was, we saw the lock move through the air with no sound or support. Some of us followed him and saw where he had landed, but we dared not approach him. It's best to leave things like that alone."

"You said others were trying to find it," Raymond said. "What happened to you?"

"They didn't come back," Fletcher replied.

Raymond reached under his shirt and pulled out the locket. He opened it and showed Fletcher the picture of the young man. "Was he one of those who didn't come back?"

Fletcher studied the picture in the locket. "Yes, I remember him," he said. "He watered his horse here and drank beer at the inn. He left before dark and that was the last we saw of him.”

Raymond closed the locket and placed it again close to his heart. He didn't speak again until they finished their meal. When the table was cleared, Fletcher invited Raymond to sit by the fire and they shared some tobacco.

"Tell us a story, father," said one of the little girls, seated at her father's feet.

"Yes, please, father!" echoed the other.

Fletcher shook his head. "I have no more stories to tell. You've heard them all.

But maybe our guest has a story to share with us?”

He looked questioningly at Raymond, and the little girls' faces turned to the stranger. Raymond thought for a moment, then put down his pipe and began to speak.

Raymond's second story

Once upon a time there was a knight named Alexander. He was everything a knight should be. He was brave and strong, loyal and discreet, but he was also young and eager to prove himself through daring. The land he lived in had been at peace for a very long time, and Alexander had few opportunities to gain greater authority on the battlefield. One day he told his lord and master that he wanted to travel to new and foreign lands to test himself and see if he was really worthy to stand alongside the greatest of his fellow knights. His lord, realizing that Alexander would not be satisfied until he was granted permission to set out, gave him his blessing, and so the knight prepared his horse and weapons and set out alone to meet his fate search,

In the years that followed, Alexander found the adventures he had long dreamed of. He joined an army of knights that marched to a kingdom far to the east, where they marched against a great sorcerer named Abuchnezzar, who had the power to turn people to dust with his gaze, leaving their remains like ashes across the fields from blew his victories. It was said that the sorcerer could not be killed by human weapons, and all who tried to kill him had died. But the knights believed that there might still be a way to end his tyranny, and they were spurred on by the promise of great rewards from the true king of the land, who was hiding from the sorcerer.

The sorcerer met the knights with his ranks of vicious goblins on the empty plain in front of his castle, and there a fierce and bloody battle began. While his comrades fell to the claws and teeth of demons or were turned to ash by the wizard's gaze, Alexander fought his way through the enemy's ranks, always hiding behind his shield and never looking in the wizard's direction until he finally found himself was was within earshot of him. He called Abuchnezzar's name, and when the wizard turned his gaze to Alexander, the knight quickly turned his shield so that its inner surface faced his enemy. Alexander had stayed awake all last night polishing the shield so that it now shone brightly in the hot midday sun.

True to his word, the king lavished gold and jewels on Alexander and offered his daughter's hand in marriage so that Alexander could become the heir to his kingdom. Yet Alexander refused all these things, only asking that the message could be sent back to his own master to tell him of the great deed he had accomplished. The king promised him that it would happen, so Alexander left him and continued on his journey. He slew the oldest and most terrible dragon in western lands and made a cloak out of its skin. He used the cloak to protect himself from the heat of the Underworld, where he traveled to rescue the Red Queen's son who had been kidnapped by a demon. With every feat he accomplished

Ten years passed, and Alexander got tired of wandering. Bearing the scars of his many adventures, he felt confident that his reputation as the greatest knight was now secure. Deciding to return to his own country, he began his long journey home. But a gang of thieves and robbers ambushed him on a dark road, and Alexander, exhausted from countless battles, could hardly fight them off and suffered serious injuries from their hands. He rode on, but he was weak and sickly. On a hill ahead he spied a castle, and he rode to its gates, calling for help, for it was the custom in these lands for people to offer help to strangers in need, and that a knight in particular should never be turned away without anything to him was given what another could offer him.

But there was no answer, although a light burned in the upper part of the castle. Alexander called again, and this time a woman's voice said, “I can't help you. You must leave this place and seek solace elsewhere.”

"I'm wounded," Alexander replied. "I fear I could die if my injuries are not treated."

But the woman answered again: “Go. I can not help you. drive up. In a mile or two you will reach a village, and there they will attend to your wounds.”

Alexander had no choice but to do as she said and turned his horse away from the castle gates and got ready to follow the road to the village. His strength left him. He fell off his horse and lay on the cold, hard ground, and the world around him went dark.

When he woke up, he found himself lying on clean sheets in a large bed. The room it lay in was very grand, but covered with dust and cobwebs as if it had not been used for a very long time. He purple and saw that his wounds were cleansed and bandaged. His weapons and armor were nowhere to be seen. There was food and a jug of wine by his bed. He ate and drank, then put on a robe that hung on a hook on the wall. He was still weak and painful to walk, but his life was no longer in danger. He tried to leave the room but the door was locked. Then he heard the woman's voice again. It read: "I have done more for you than I wished, but I will not allow you to roam my house. Nobody has entered this place for many years. It's my domain. If you are strong enough to travel

"Who are you?" asked Alexander.

"I'm the lady," she said. "I have no other name."

"Where are you?" asked Alexander, because her voice seemed to come from somewhere behind the walls.

"I'm here," she said.

At that moment the mirror on the wall to his right shimmered and became transparent, and through the glass he saw the figure of a woman. Dressed all in black, she was seated on a large throne in an otherwise empty room. Her face was veiled and her hands were covered with velvet gloves.

"Can't I look into the face of the one who saved my life?" asked Alexander.

"I choose not to allow it," the lady replied.

Alexander bowed, because if it was the lady's will, then so be it.

"Where are your servants?" asked Alexander. "I want to be sure that my horse is taken care of."

"I have no servants," said the lady. “I looked at your horse myself. He's fine."

Alexander had so many questions to ask that he didn't know where to begin. He opened his mouth, but the lady held up a hand to silence him. "I'm leaving you now," she said. "Sleep because I wish you to recover quickly and get out of this place as soon as possible."

The mirror shimmered, and the lady's image was replaced with Alexander's own.

With nothing else to do, Alexander returned to his bed and fell asleep.

When he woke up the next morning, he found fresh bread and a jug of warm milk by his side. He hadn't heard anyone enter during the night. Alexander drank some of the milk, and while eating the bread he went to the mirror and looked at it.

Though the image didn't change, he was sure the lady was standing behind the glass, watching him.

Now, like many of the greatest knights, Alexander was not just a warrior. He could play both the lute and the lyre. He could write poetry and even paint a little. He loved books because books contained the knowledge of all those who had gone before him. When the lady next appeared in the jar that night, he asked for some of these things to while away the time while he recovered from his injuries. When he woke up the next morning, he was greeted by a pile of old books, a slightly dusty lute, a canvas, paints and some brushes. He played the lute and then began to work his way through the books. There were volumes on history and philosophy, astronomy and morals, poetry and religion. As he read them in the days that followed, the lady appeared more and more frequently behind the pane of glass and asked him about everything he had read. He knew that she had read them all many times and knew their contents well. Alexander was surprised, because in his own country women did not have access to such books, but he was grateful for the conversation. So the lady asked him to play the lute for her, and he did, and it seemed to him that she liked the notes he made.

So the days turned into weeks and the lady spent more and more time on the other side of the glass, talking to Alexander about art and books, listening to him play and inquiring what he was painting, for Alexander refused to let her show and got a promise from her that she wouldn't look at it while he slept because he didn't want her to see it until it was finished. And even though Alexander's wounds were almost healed, the lady didn't seem to want him to go anymore and Alexander didn't want to go anymore because he fell in love with this strange, veiled woman behind the glass. He spoke to her about the battles he had fought and the reputation he had earned through his conquests. He wanted her to understand that he was a great knight, a knight worthy of a great lady.

After two months had passed, the lady came to Alexander and sat down in her usual place.

"Why do you look so sad?" she asked, realizing the knight was unhappy.

"I can't finish my painting," he said.

"Why that? Don't you have any brushes or paints? What more do you need?"

Alexander turned the screen away from the wall so the lady could see the image on it. It was a painting of the lady herself, but the face was blank for Alexander had yet to look at it.

"Forgive me," he said. "I love you. I've learned so much about you in these months we've spent together. I've never met a woman like you and I'm afraid that if I leave here I might never do it again. May I hope you feel the same way about me?”

The lady lowered her head. She seemed about to say something, but then the mirror shimmered and she disappeared from view.

Days passed and the lady did not appear again. Alexander was left alone, wondering if he had offended her by what he had said and done. Every night he slept soundly and every morning food appeared, but he never saw the lady who brought it.

Then, five days later, he heard the key turn in the lock of his door, and the lady entered. She was still veiled and dressed all in black, but Alexander sensed something different about her.

"I've been thinking about what you said," she said. "I have feelings for you too.

But tell me, and tell me truly: Do you love me? Will you always love me no matter what happens?”

Somewhere deep in Alexander the haste of youth still lingered, for he almost thoughtlessly replied, "Yes, I will always love you."

Then the lady lifted her veil, and Alexander looked her in the face for the first time. It was a woman's face crossed with that of an animal, a wild creature of the forest, like a panther or a tigress. Alexander opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't, he was so shocked by what he saw.

"My stepmother made me like this," said the lady. "I was beautiful and she envied my beauty, so she cursed me with animal features and told me I would never be loved. And I believed her and hid from shame until you came."

The lady walked towards Alexander with outstretched hands, and her eyes were filled with hope and love and a faint glimmer of fear, for she had opened up to him as she had never opened up to any other human being, and now her heart lay silently exposed as before a sharp blade.

But Alexander did not come to her. He backed away, and in that moment his fate was sealed.

"Foul man!" cried the lady. "Inconstant creature! You told me you love me, but you only love yourself."

She lifted her head and showed him her sharp teeth. The tips of her gloves split as long claws protruded from her fingers. She roared at the knight, then lunged at him, biting him, clawing him, tearing him apart with her claws, the taste of his blood warm in her mouth, the hot feel of her fur.

And she tore him to pieces in the bedchamber, and wept as she devoured him.

The two little girls looked quite shocked as Raymond finished his story. He Violet thanked Fletcher and his family for the meal and then motioned for Adam to leave. At the door, Fletcher gently placed a hand on Raymond's arm.

"A word, please," he said. "The elders are worried. They believe the village was marked by the beast you spoke of, for it is surely near.”

"Do you have guns?" Raymond asked.

“We do, but you've seen the best of them. We're farmers and hunters, not mercenaries," Fletcher said.

"Maybe that's a stroke of luck," Raymond said. “The mercenaries, on the other hand, were not doing so well. Maybe you'll have better luck."

Fletcher gave him a questioning look, unable to tell if Raymond was serious or mocking him. Even Adam wasn't sure.

"You're joking with me?" Fletcher asked.

Raymond put his hand on the older man's shoulder. "Just a little," he said. "The mercenaries approached the destruction of the beast as they would any other army.

They were forced to fight on unknown ground against an enemy they did not understand. They had time to put up some defenses because we saw what was left of them, but they weren't strong enough to hold them. They were forced to retreat into the forest and there they were finished off. Whatever it is, this creature is large and heavy, for I have seen where its bulk has crushed trees and bushes. I doubt it can move quickly, but it's strong and can withstand the injuries of spears and swords. Out in the open, the mercenaries were no match for him.

“But you and your colleagues are in a different position. This is your country and you know it. You have to look at this thing like a wolf or a fox that threatens your animals. You must lure it to a location of your choice, capture it there, and kill it.”

“You suggest bait? Cattle maybe?”

Raymond nodded. "That might work. It comes because it likes the taste of meat, and there's little of that between the place of its last meal and this village. You can huddle here and hope your walls will stand up, or you can his plan for destruction, but you may have to sacrifice more than just a few cattle to achieve that goal.”

"What do you mean?" asked Fletcher. He looked scared.

Raymond wet his finger with a bottle of water, then knelt and traced a circle on the stone floor, leaving a small gap rather than completing it.

"This is your village," Raymond said. "Your walls are built to repel an attack from without." He drew arrows pointing away from the circle. "But what if you let your enemy in and then shut the gates on him?" Raymond completed the circle, this time drawing arrows pointing inward. "Then your walls become traps."

Fletcher stared at the drawing, already drying on the stone, fading to nothing.

"And what do we do when it's inside?" he asked.

"Then you set the village and everything in it on fire," Raymond said. "You burn it alive."

That night, while Raymond and Adam were sleeping, a great blizzard swept purple, and the village and everything around it was blanketed in snow. The snow fell all day, so thick that one could not see more than a few meters. Raymond decided they had to stay in the village until the weather improved, but neither he nor Adam had any food left, and the villagers barely had enough for themselves. So Raymond requested a meeting with the elders and spent time with them in the church, where the villagers met to discuss important matters. He offered to help them kill the beast if they would grant him and Adam protection. Adam sat at the back of the church when Raymond told them about his plan, and the arguments for and against went back and forth. Some of the villagers were unwilling to sacrifice their homes to the flames, and Adam didn't blame them. They wanted to wait, hoping that the walls and defenses would save them when the beast came.

"And if they don't last?" Raymond asked. "What then? By the time you realize they have let you down, it will be too late to do anything but die."

In the end, a compromise was proposed. As soon as the weather improved, the women, children and old men left the village and took shelter in the caves on the nearby hills. They brought everything valuable with them, even their furniture, and left only the shells of the houses. Barrels of pitch and oil would be stored in the huts near the heart of the village. When the beast attacked, the defenders tried to repel it or kill it behind the walls. If it broke through, they would retreat and drag it to the center. The fuses would be lit and the beast would be captured and killed, but only as a last resort. The villagers voted and everyone agreed that this was the best plan.

Raymond stormed out of the church. Adam had to run to catch up.

"Why are you so angry?" asked Adam. "They agreed to most of your plan."

"Most isn't enough," Raymond said. "We don't even know what's ahead of us. What we do know is that trained mercenaries armed with hardened steel couldn't kill that thing. What hope do farmers have against this? Had they listened to me, the beast might have been defeated without losing their lives. Now people will die needlessly for sticks and straw, for huts that could be rebuilt in weeks.”

"But it's their village," Adam said. "It is your decision."

Raymond slowed and then stopped. His hair was white from the snow. It made him look a lot older than he was.

"Yes," he said, "it's their village. But our fortunes are now tied to theirs and if that fails there is a good chance we will die at his side for our troubles.”

The snow fell and the fires burned in the huts and the wind carried the scent of smoke into the darkest depths of the forest.

And in its lair, the beast smelled the smoke in the air and it began to move.

Chapter 21

Of the coming of the beast

Preparations were made throughout the day and the next to evacuate the village. The women, children, and old men gathered what they could carry, and every cart and horse was put into service except Scylla, for Raymond kept an eye on her. Instead, he rode the wall inside and out, checking for weaknesses. He didn't seem pleased with what he saw. The snow was still falling, numbing fingers and freezing feet. It complicated the task of beefing up the village's defenses, and the men grumbled among themselves, questioning whether all this preparation was really necessary and suggesting that perhaps they would have been better off escaping with the women and children. Even Raymond seemed to have his doubts.

"We might as well use shrapnel and firewood against that creature," Adam heard him say to Fletcher. They had no idea where the attack would come from, so Raymond kept reminding the defenders of their lines of retreat once the wall was breached and their tasks once the beast was in the village. He didn't want the men to panic and flee blindly if the creature broke through – as he was sure - or all was lost, but he had little faith in their willingness to face the beast if the tide of the battle turned against them.

"They're not cowards," Raymond said to Adam as they sat by a fire and rested, drinking the still-warm milk from the cow. All around them, men were sharpening staffs and sword blades, or using oxen and horses to drag logs into the grounds to support the walls from within. There was little conversation now, for the day was drawing to a close and night was approaching. Everyone was tense and scared. "Each of these men would give their lives for their wives and children," Raymond continued. "Faced with bandits, wolves or wild animals, they would face the threat and live or die depending on the outcome. But this is different: They don't know or understand what they're about to confront, and they're not disciplined or experienced enough to fight as a unit.

"You don't have much faith in people, do you?" Adam said.

"I don't have much faith in anything," Raymond replied. "Not even in myself."

He finished the rest of his milk and then cleaned the cup in a bucket of cold water.

"Come now," he said. "We must sharpen sticks and sharpen dull swords."

He smiled blankly. Adam didn't smile back.

It had been decided that they would station the bulk of their small force near the gates in the hope that this would lure the beast to them. If it breached the defenses, it would be lured to the center of the village where the trap would snap shut. You would then have one chance, and one chance only, to contain and kill it.

When even the pale moonlight could not be seen in the sky, a convoy of people and animals quietly left the village, accompanied by a small escort of men to ensure they reached the caves safely. As soon as the men returned, a formal guard was posted on the walls, and each man in turn spent a few hours guarding the approaches. Altogether they numbered about forty men and Adam.

Raymond had asked Adam if he wanted to enter the caves with the others, but although scared, Adam said he wanted to stay. He wasn't sure why. Partly he felt safer with Raymond, who was the only person he trusted in this place, but he was also curious. Adam wanted to see the beast, whatever it was.

Raymond seemed to know this, and when the villagers asked him why he had allowed Adam to stay, he told them Adam was his squire and was as valuable to him as his sword or his horse. His words made Adam blush with pride.

They tied an old cow in the clearing outside the gates, hoping that it would lure the beast in, but nothing happened on either the first or second night of the watch, and the men grew more and more sullen and weary. The snow fell and froze, fell and froze. Because of the snowstorm, it was difficult for the watchmen on the walls to see the forest. A few began to murmur among themselves.

"That's stupid."

"This creature is just as cold as we are. In this weather he will not attack us.”

“Maybe there is no beast at all. What if Ethan was attacked by a wolf or a bear?

We only have word from this vagabond that he saw the bodies of mercenaries.”

"The smith is right. What if this is all a trick?”

It was Fletcher trying to reason with her. "And what would such a trick serve?" he asked her. "He's a man with a boy by his side. He can't murder us in our sleep, and we have nothing of value to steal. If he does it for food, then there's bad food for him here. Have faith, my friends, and be patient and watchful.”

Their grumbling then stopped, but they were still cold and unhappy, and they missed their wives and their families.

Adam spent all of his time with Raymond, sleeping next to him during their rest periods and walking around with him when it came time to take the watch. With the defenses now reinforced as much as possible, Raymond took the time to talk and joke with the villagers, rousing them when they were dozing and encouraging when their spirits were failing. He knew that this was the hardest time for her because the watch was boring and on her nerves. As Adam watched him move between them and oversee the village's defenses, he wondered if Raymond was really just a mercenary as he claimed. To Adam he seemed more like a leader, a natural leader of men, and yet he rode alone.

The second night they sat in the light of a great fire, huddled under thick cloaks. Raymond had told Adam he was free to sleep in one of the cottages nearby, but none of the others had opted in and Adam didn't want to appear weaker than he already seemed by accepting the offer, even if it was his Denial meant sleeping out in the open, cold and exposed. So he decided to stay with Raymond.

The flames illuminated the mercenary's features, cast shadows across his skin, strengthened the bones of his cheeks, and deepened the darkness in his eye sockets.

"What do you think happened to Michael?" Adam asked him.

Raymond didn't answer. He just shook his head.

Adam knew he should probably keep quiet, but he didn't want to. He had his own questions and doubts, and somehow he knew Raymond shared them.

It was no coincidence that brought them together. Nothing about this place seemed bound solely by the rules of chance. Everything that happened had a purpose, a pattern behind it, even if Adam could only catch glimpses of it.

"You think he's dead, don't you?" he said quietly.

"Yes," Raymond replied. "I feel it in my heart."

"But you have to find out what happened to him."

"I will know no peace until I do."

"But you can also die. If you follow his path, you could end up just like him.

Aren't you afraid of death?"

Raymond took a stick and poked at the fire, sparks flying into the night. They fizzled out before they got very far, like insects already being consumed by the flames as they struggled to outrun them.

"I'm afraid of the pain of dying," he said. "I've been wounded before, once so badly it was feared I wouldn't survive. I can remember the agony and I don't want to go through it again.

“But I feared the death of others more. I didn't want to lose them and worried about them as long as they lived. Sometimes I think I've been so preoccupied with the possibility of her loss that I've never really rejoiced in the fact of her existence. It was part of my nature, even with Michael. And yet he was the blood in my veins, the sweat on my forehead. Without him, I am less than I used to be.”

Adam stared at the flames. Raymond's words echoed inside him. That was how he felt about his mother. He'd spent so long dreading the thought of losing her that he'd never really enjoyed the time they spent together towards the end.

"And you?" said Raymond. "You're just a boy. You don't belong here. Aren't you afraid?"

"Yes," Adam said. "But I heard my mother's voice. She is here somewhere. I have to find her. I have to bring her back."

"Adam, your mother is dead," Raymond said softly. "You told me."

"Then how can she be here? How can I have heard her voice so clearly?”

But Raymond had no answer and Adam's frustration grew.

"What is this place?" he requested. "It has no name. Even you can't tell me what it's called. It has a king, but he might as well not exist. There are things here that don't belong here: this tank, the German plane that followed me through the tree, the Shylock's. It's all wrong. It is only…"

His voice fell silent. Words formed in his brain like a dark cloud on a clear summer day, filled with heat, anger and confusion. The question came to him, and he was almost surprised to hear his own voice asking it.

"Raymond, are you dead? are we dead?”

Raymond looked at him through the flames.

"I don't know," he replied. “I think I'm just as alive as you. I feel cold and warm, hunger and thirst, longing and regret. I am aware of the weight of a sword in my hand, and my skin bears the marks of the armor I wear when I take it off at night. I can taste bread and meat. I can smell Scylla on me after a day in the saddle. If I were dead, such things would be lost to me, wouldn't they?"

"I suppose so," Adam said. He had no idea how the dead felt as they transitioned from one world to the next. how could he All he knew was that his mother's skin had felt cold, but Adam could still feel the warmth of his own body. Like Raymond, he could smell, touch, and taste. He was aware of pain and discomfort. He could feel the heat of the fire and was sure his skin would blister and burn if he put his hand to it.

And yet this world remained an odd mixture of the strange and the familiar, as if by coming here he had somehow altered its nature and infected it with aspects of his own life.

"Have you ever dreamed of this place?" he asked Raymond. "Have you ever dreamed of me or anything else in it?"

'When I met you on the road you were a stranger to me,' said Raymond, 'and although I knew there was a village here I had never seen it until now, for I had never traveled these roads before. Adam, this country is as real as you. Don't start believing that it's a dream being conjured up deep inside you. I've seen the fear in your eyes when you speak of the wolf packs and the creatures who lead them, and I know they will eat you when they find you. I smelled the decay of these men on the battlefield. Soon we will face what wiped them out, and we may not survive the encounter. All of these things are real. You endured pain here. If you can endure pain, then you can die. You can be killed here and your own world will be lost to you forever. Never forget that. If you do that, you are lost.”

Maybe, Adam thought.

Perhaps.

It was deep into the third night when a cry came from one of the lookouts at the gates.

"For me, for me!" said the young man whose job it was to guard the main road to the settlement. "I heard something and saw movement on the ground. I am sure."

The sleeping ones awoke and joined him. Those far from the gates heard the scream and also wanted to run, but Raymond called them and told them to stay where they were. He arrived at the gates and began climbing a ladder to the platform at the top of the wall. Some of the other men were already waiting for him, while others stood on the ground, staring at eye level through the slits that had been cut in the tree trunks. Their torches hissed and sprayed as the snow fell on them, melting instantly.

"I can't see anything," the smith said to the young man. "You woke us up for no good reason."

They heard the cow bellow nervously. It woke purple from its sleep and tried to free itself from the post it was tied to.

"Wait," Raymond said. He took an arrow from a stack on the wall, each one with an oil-soaked rag on the tip. He touched one of the torches with the wrapped tip and it burst into flames. He took careful aim and fired where the wall guard said he saw movement. Four or five of the other men did the same, arrows soaring through the night air like dying stars.

For a moment there was nothing but falling snow and shady trees.

Then something moved and they saw a massive yellow body erupting from beneath the earth, ridged like that of a great worm, each crest studded with thick black hairs, each hair ending in a razor-sharp barb. One of the darts had lodged in the creature, and a foul stench of burning flesh purple so horrible the men covered their noses and mouths to block the stench. Black liquid gushed from the wound, spitting in the heat of the arrow's flame. Adam could see the shafts of broken arrows and spears lodged in his skin, relics of his previous encounter with the mercenaries. It was impossible to tell how long it was, but its body was at least ten feet tall. They saw the beast twirl and twirl as it extricated itself from the dirt, and then a horrible face appeared. It had clusters of black eyes like a spider, some small, some large, and beneath them a sucking maw lined with rows of sharp teeth. Between eyes and mouth, openings quivered like nostrils as she smelled the men of the village and the warm blood beneath her skin. On either side of its jaws were two arms, each terminating in a set of three hooked claws that it could use to draw its prey into its jaws. It couldn't seem to get a sound out of its mouth, but there was a wet, sucking sound as it began to move across the forest floor, and strands of clear, sticky mucus dripped from its torso as it stretched out like a giant, ugly caterpillar, reaching for a tasty leaf.

"He's higher than the wall!" Fletcher yelled. "It doesn't have to break through. It can just climb over it!”

Raymond didn't answer. Instead, he ordered all men to light arrows and aim at the beast's head. A shower of flames shot toward the creature. Some missed, while others ricocheted off the thick, spiky hairs on his skin. But others struck, and Adam saw an arrow land in one of the creature's eyes, instantly bursting it. The smell of rotting, burning flesh grew stronger. The beast shook its head in pain, then moved toward the walls. You could see clearly how big it was now: ten meters long from its jaws to its rump. It was moving much faster than even Raymond had anticipated, and only the thick snow prevented it from going any faster. Soon it would be upon them.

"Fire as long as you can and then back off when you've got it against the walls!" Raymond shouted. He grabbed Adam's arm. "Come with me. I need your help."

But Adam couldn't move. He was drawn to the beast's dark eyes and couldn't take his eyes off them. It was as if a fragment of his own nightmares had somehow come to life, as if the thing that lay in the shadow of his imagination had finally taken shape.

"Adam!" shouted Raymond. He shook the boy's arm and the spell was broken.

"Come now. We have little time."

They climbed down from the platform and headed for the gates. These consisted of two thick planks closed from the inside by half a log, which could be lifted by pressing hard on one end. Reaching the trunk, Raymond and Adam began pushing down with all their might.

"What you are doing?" cried the smith. "You will condemn us to death!"

And then the beast's great head appeared over the smith, and one of its clawed arms shot out and grabbed the man, lifting him high in the air and straight into its waiting jaws. Adam looked away, unable to see the smith die. The other defenders now used spears and swords. Fletcher, who was taller and stronger than everyone else, raised a sword and tried with a single blow to sever one of the beast's arms from its body, but it was as thick and hard as the trunk of a tree and the sword barely broke his skin. Still, the pain distracted him long enough for the villagers to begin their retreat from the walls, just as Adam and Raymond managed to raise the barrier at the gates.

The beast attempted to climb over the wall, but Raymond had instructed the men to force hooked sticks through the gaps when the beast got close enough. They tore at the beast's skin, and it writhed and writhed around them. The hooks slowed it down, but it kept trying to push itself over the defense, even at the cost of a major injury. Just then, Raymond opened the gates and appeared outside the walls. He drew an arrow and fired it sideways at the beast's head.

"Hey!" shouted Raymond. "This way. Come on!"

He waved his arms, then fired again. The beast detached its body from the wall and dropped to the ground, the mud from its wounds turning the snow black.

It turned to Raymond, pushing through the gates, its arms trying to grab him as he ran in front of it, its head thrust forward, its jaws snapping at its heels. It stopped as it crossed the threshold, taking in the winding streets and the fleeing men.

Raymond brandished his torch and sword. "Here!" he cried. "Here I am!"

Raymond fired another arrow, narrowly missing the beast's jaws, but it was no longer interested in him. Instead, its nostrils opened and closed as it ducked its head, sniffing and searching. Adam, hiding in the shadows outside the forge, saw his face reflected in the depths of his eyes when the beast found him. Its jaws opened, dripping saliva and blood, and then one of its sharp claws grazed the roof of the forge as it reached for the boy. Adam threw himself backwards just in time to avoid being yanked into the creature's grasp. He heard Raymond's voice muffled.

"Run Adam! You must lure it for us!”

Adam Violet got up and started sprinting through the narrow streets of the village.

Behind him, the beast shattered the walls and roofs of huts as it followed, its head falling on the small figure fleeing from it, its claws raking in the air.

At one point, Adam stumbled, and the claws ripped at the clothing on his back as he rolled out of their reach and scrambled to his feet. Now he was only a stone's throw away from the center of the village. Around the church was a square where markets had been held in happier times. The defenders had dug channels for the oil to flow into the space surrounding the beast. Adam raced across the open space towards the church doors, the beast just a few yards behind him. Raymond was already in the doorway, pushing Adam forward.

Suddenly the beast stopped. Adam turned and stared at it. At nearby homes, the men prepared to channel the oil into the canals, but they too stopped what they were doing and watched the beast. It started shaking and shaking. Its jaws widened impossibly and it spasmed as if in great pain. Suddenly it fell to the ground as its abdomen swelled. Adam could see movement in it. A figure pressed against the beast's skin from within.

She. The dishonest man had said the beast was a woman.

"It's a birth!" screamed Adam. "You must kill it now!"

It was too late. The beast's stomach burst open with a great tearing sound, and its offspring began pouring out, miniatures of itself, each as tall as Adam, their eyes clouded and seeing nothing, but their jaws wide open and hungry for food. Some chewed out of their own mother and ate her flesh while freeing themselves from her dying body.

"Pour the oil!" Raymond shouted to the other men. "Pour it in, then light the fuses and run!"

The boys were already crowding the square, the instinct to hunt and kill already strong in them. Raymond pulled Adam into the church and locked the door behind them. Something bumped against it from the outside and the door shook in its frame.

Raymond took Adam's hand and led him to the clock tower. They climbed the stone steps until they came to the very top, where the bell itself hung, and from there they looked down on the square.

The beast was still on her side, but she had stopped moving. If she wasn't already dead, then she would be soon. Most of her descendants continued to feed on her, chewing on her guts and gnawing on her eyes. Others meandered across the square or looked for something to eat in the surrounding huts. The oil ran through the channels, but the boys didn't seem to mind. In the distance Adam saw the surviving defenders running towards the gates, desperately trying to outrun the creatures.

"There are no flames," Adam shouted. "They didn't light the fires."

Raymond drew one of the oil-soaked arrows from his quiver. "Then we must do it for them," he said.

He lit the dart with his flaming torch, then aimed it at one of the oil galleries below. The arrow shot out of the bow and hit the black stream. Instantly the flames flare purple, the fire racing across the square following the patterns carved into it. The creatures in his path began to burn, hiss, and squirm as they died.

Raymond took a second arrow and fired through the window into a cottage, but nothing happened. Adam could already see some of the boys trying to escape the square and the flames. They were not allowed to return to the forest.

Raymond nocked one last arrow on his bow, drew it to his cheek, and released it.

This time there was a loud explosion from inside the hut and the roof was lifted off by the force of the explosion. Flames shot up into the air, and then there were more explosions as the system of barrels Raymond had created in the houses ignited one by one, pouring flaming liquid all over the place, killing everything within reach. Only Raymond and Adam were saved, high in their place in the bell tower, because the flames could not reach the church. There they stayed, the stench of the burning creatures and the smell of acrid smoke filling the air, until only the dying crackle of the flames and the soft whisper of the snow melting in the fire disturbed the stillness of the night.

Chapter 22

Of dishonesty and the sowing of doubt

The next morning Adam AND Raymond left the village. It had stopped snowing by now, and although thick snowdrifts still blanketed the lay of the land, it was possible to make out the route the hidden road took between the tree-covered hills. The women, children, and old men had returned from their hiding places in the caves. Adam could hear some of them weeping and wailing as they stood before the smoldering ruins of their former homes, or mourning for those lost, for three men had died fighting the beast.

Others had gathered in the square where the horses and oxen were being called into service again, this time to haul away the charred carcasses of the beast and its foul offspring.

Raymond hadn't asked Adam why he thought the beast had decided to pursue him through the village, but Adam had seen the mercenary eye him thoughtfully as they prepared to leave. Fletcher had seen what had happened too, and Adam knew he was curious too. Adam wasn't sure how he would answer the question if asked. How could he explain his feeling that the beast was familiar to him, that there was a corner of his imagination where the creature had found an echo of itself? What frightened him most was the feeling that he was somehow responsible for their creation, and the deaths of the mercenaries and villagers now weighed on his conscience.

When Scylla was saddled and they had scraped together some food and fresh water, Raymond and Adam walked through the village to the gates. Few villagers came to wish them well. Most chose instead to turn their backs on the departing travelers or glare ominously at them from the ruins.

Only Fletcher seemed genuinely sorry to see her go. "I apologize for the behavior of others," he said. "You should show more gratitude for what you've done."

"They blame us for what happened to their village," Raymond told Fletcher.

"Why should they be grateful to those who took their roofs off?"

Fletcher looked embarrassed.

"There are people who say that the beast followed you and that you should never have been allowed to enter the village in the first place," he said. He gave Adam a quick look, unwilling to meet his eyes. "Some have spoken of the boy and how the beast attacked him instead of you. They say he's cursed and we're good rid of him and you."

"Are they mad at you for bringing us here?" Adam asked, and Fletcher seemed slightly shaken by the boy's care.

"If they are, they will soon forget it. We are already planning to send men into the forest to cut down trees. We will rebuild our homes. The wind has saved most of the houses to the south and west and we will share our living quarters until we rebuild. In time they will realize that without you there would be no village and many more would have died in the jaws of the beast and its young.”

Fletcher handed Raymond a bag of food.

"I can't take it," Raymond said. "You will all need it."

"When the beast is dead, the beasts will return and we will have prey to hunt again."

Raymond thanked him and prepared to turn Scylla east.

"You are a brave young man," Fletcher said to Adam. "I wish there was something else I could give you, but all I could find was this."

In his hand he held what appeared to be a blackened hook. He gave it to Adam. It was heavy and had the texture of bone.

"It's one of the beast's claws," Fletcher said. "If ever someone questions your courage, or you feel your courage failing, take it in your hands and remember what you did here."

Adam thanked him and stowed the claw in his backpack. Then Raymond spurred Scylla on and they left the ruins of the village behind.

They rode in silence through the twilight world, made even more eerie by the fallen snow. Everything seemed to glow with a bluish tinge, and the land seemed both brighter and more alien. It was very cold and her breath was heavy in the air. Adam felt the hairs in his nostrils freeze and the moisture from his breath formed ice crystals on his eyelashes. Raymond rode slowly, careful to keep Scylla away from ditches and drifts for fear of injuring herself.

"Raymond," Adam finally said. "There's something that bothers me. You told me you were just a mercenary, but I don't think that's true."

"Why are you saying that?" Raymond asked.

"I've seen you give orders to the villagers and they obeyed you, even those who weren't sure they liked you. I have seen your armor and your sword. I thought the decoration on it was just bronze or colored metal, but when I looked closer I could see it was gold. The sun symbol on your breastplate and your shield is of gold, and gold is on your scabbard and on your sword hilt. How can that be when you're just a mercenary?"

Raymond didn't answer for a while, then said, "I was more than a mercenary once.

My father was the lord of a vast estate and I was his eldest son and heir. But he didn't approve of me or the way I lived my life. We quarreled and in a fit of rage he banished me from his presence and from his land. It wasn't long after our fight that my search for Michael began.”

Adam wanted to ask more, but he sensed that everything that lay between Raymond and Michael was private and very personal. To pursue it further would have been impolite and damaging to Raymond.

"And you?" Raymond asked. "Tell me more about yourself and your home."

And Adam did. He tried to explain some of the wonders of his own world to Raymond. He told him about planes and radio, about cinemas and cars. He spoke of war, of conquering nations and bombing cities. If Raymond thought these things were extraordinary, he didn't show it. He listened to them as an adult would listen to a child's made-up stories, impressed that a mind could create such fantasies, but reluctant to share their creator's belief in them. He seemed more interested in what the woodcutter had told Adam about the king and the book that held his secrets.

"I too have heard that the king knows a great deal about books and stories," Raymond said. "His empire may crumble around him, but he always has time to share stories. Maybe the woodcutter was right when he tried to lead you to him.”

"If the king is weak as you say, what will happen to his kingdom when he dies?" asked Adam. "Has he a son or daughter who will succeed him?"

"The king has no children," Raymond said. "He ruled for a very long time, even before I was born, but he never took a wife."

"And before him?" asked Adam, who had always been interested in kings and queens and kingdoms and knights. "Was his father king?"

Raymond had trouble remembering.

"I think there was a queen before him. She was very, very old, and she announced that a young man, whom no one had seen before, but who was soon to come, would rule the realm in her place. So it happened, according to those who were alive at the time. Within days of the young man's arrival, he was king, and the queen went to her bed and fell asleep, never waking again.

They say she seemed almost... grateful to die."

They came to a creek that had frozen over from the falling temperature and decided to take a short break there. Raymond used the hilt of his sword to break the ice so Scylla could drink from the water below. Adam walked along the shore while Raymond ate. He wasn't hungry. Fletcher's wife had given him large slices of homemade bread and jam for breakfast that morning and they were still in his stomach. He was sitting on a rock and digging for stones in the snow to throw them on the ice. The snow was deep and soon his arm was buried in it. His fingers touched some pebbles??–

And a hand shot out of the snow beside him and grabbed him just above the elbow. It was white and thin, with long, jagged nails, and pulled it off the rock into the snow with tremendous force. Adam opened his mouth to scream for help, but a second hand appeared and covered his lips. He was pulled under the drifts, the snow fell on him so that he could no longer see the trees and the sky, his hands could not be separated from him.

He felt hard ground against his back and was overcome by a terrible suffocating sensation, and then the earth, too, collapsed and he found himself in a hollow of dirt and stone. The hands released him and a light shone through the darkness.

Tree roots hung overhead, gently caressing his face, and Adam saw the mouths of three tunnels, the mouths of which converged at this one point. Yellowed bones lay in a corner, the flesh that once covered them long since rotted or consumed. Worms, bugs, and spiders swarmed everywhere, scurrying and fighting and dying in the damp, cold earth.

And there was the dishonest man. He was crouched in a corner, one of those pale hands that had been dragging Adam down now holding a lamp while the other held a giant black bug. As Adam watched, the dishonest man stuck the fighting insect head first in his mouth and bit it in half. He chewed on the bug and watched Adam the whole time. The lower half of the insect continued to move for a few seconds and then stopped. The dishonest man offered it to Adam. Adam could see part of himself. They were white. He felt very ill.

"Help me!" he cried. "Raymond, please help me!"

But there was no answer. Instead, the vibrations of his screams merely loosened dirt from the top of the hollow. It fell on his head and into his mouth. Adam spat it out and prepared to scream again.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," said the dishonest man. He picked his teeth and pulled out a long, black beetle leg that was lodged close to his gums. "The ground here isn't stable, and with all that snow on top, well, I don't like imagining what would happen if it fell on you. You would die, I suppose, and not very pleasantly."

Adam closed his mouth. He didn't want to be buried alive down there with the bugs and the worms and the dishonest.

The dishonest man worked the bottom half of the beetle, removing its back to fully expose its interior.

"Are you sure you don't want any?" he asked. “They are very good: crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. However, sometimes I find that I don't want crispy. I just want soft.”

He lifted the insect's body to his mouth and sucked on its flesh, then tossed the husk into a corner.

"I thought you and I should talk," he said, "without risking your, um, 'friend' upstairs interrupting us. I don't think you fully grasp the nature of your predicament. You still seem to think that allying with every stranger that comes by would help you, but it won't, you know. I'm the reason you're still alive, not some ignorant lumberjack or one in disgrace fallen knight."

Adam could not bear to see the men who had helped him dismissed like this. "The woodcutter was not ignorant," he said. “And Raymond had a fight with his father. He is no disgrace to anyone.”

The dishonest man grinned unpleasantly. "Did he tell you that? Tut tut. Have you seen the picture he wears in his locket? Michael, isn't that the name of the one he's looking for? Such a beautiful name for a young man. They were very close, you know. Ooh, very close.”

Adam didn't know exactly what the dishonest man meant, but the way he spoke made Adam feel dirty and soiled.

"Maybe he wants you to be his new friend," the dishonest man continued.

'He looks at you at night, you know, when you're sleeping. he thinks you are beautiful He wants to be close to you, closer than close.”

"Don't talk about him like that," Adam warned. "Do not you dare."

The dishonest man jumped out of the corner like a frog and landed in front of Adam. His bony hand gripped the boy's jaw painfully, the nails digging into his skin.

"Don't tell me what to do, child," he said. "I could rip your head off if I wanted to and decorate my dining table with it. I could poke a hole in your skull and stick a candle in it once I'd eaten my fill of what was inside – which wouldn't be much I suppose. You're not a very bright boy, are you? You enter a world you don't understand, chasing the voice of someone you know is dead. You can't find your way back and you insult the only person who can help you return, which is me. You are a very rude, ungrateful and ignorant little boy.”

With a snap of his fingers, the dishonest man pulled out a long, sharp needle, threaded with a coarse black cord made of what appeared to be the knotted legs of dead bugs.

"Why don't you work on your manners now before you make me sew your lips shut?"

He released his grip on Adam's face and then gently patted his cheek.

"Let me show you a proof of my good intentions," he purred. He reached into the leather pouch on his belt and pulled out the snout he had severed from the wolf scout. He dangled it in front of Adam.

"He followed you and found you when you came out of the church in the woods. It would have killed you too if I hadn't intervened. Where it went, others will follow. They are on your trail and are becoming more and more numerous. More and more of them are changing now and they cannot be stopped. your time is coming. Even the king knows it, and he doesn't have the strength to stand in their way. It would be good for you to be back in your own world before they find you again and I can help you. Tell me what I want to know and you'll be safe in your bed before dark. Everything will be fine in your house and your problems will be solved. Your father will love you and only you. I can promise you that if you answer just one question.”

Adam didn't want to deal with the dishonest. He couldn't be trusted and Adam was sure he was hiding many things from him. No deal with him could ever be easy or free. But Adam also knew that much of what he said was true: the wolves were coming and they wouldn't stop until they found Adam. Raymond wouldn't be able to kill them all. Then there was the beast: terrible as it was, it was just one of the terrors this land seemed to hide. There would be others, maybe worse than Loups or Beast.

Wherever Adam's mother was now, in this world or another, she seemed beyond his reach. He couldn't find her. He'd been foolish to ever believe he could, but he'd wished so badly that it was true. He had wanted her alive again. He missed her. Sometimes he forgot her, but in forgetting he remembered her again, and the pain for her returned with a vengeance. But the answer to his loneliness was not in this place. It was time to go home.

And so spoke Adam. "What do you want to know?" he said.

The dishonest man leaned toward him and whispered. "I want you to tell me the name of the child in your house," he said. "I want you to name your half brother."

Adam's fear was replaced with confusion. "But why?" he said. If the dishonest man was the same figure he had seen in his bedroom, had he not been in other parts of the house? Adam remembered waking up at home with the uncomfortable feeling that something or someone had touched his face while he was sleeping. Sometimes a strange smell hung in Tommie's bedroom (at least stranger than the smell that usually emanated from Tommie). Could that have been an indication of the dishonest man's presence?

Was it possible that the dishonest man hadn't heard Tommie's name when he broke into her house, and why was it so important to him to know the name in the first place?

"I just want to hear it from your lips," said the dishonest man. "It's such a small thing, such a tiny, tiny favor. Tell me and this will all be over.”

Adam swallowed hard. He wanted so badly to go home. All he had to do was say Tommie's name. What harm could that do? He opened his mouth to speak, but the next name spoken wasn't Tommie's, it was his own.

"Adam! Where are you?"

It was Raymond. Adam heard the digging from above. The dishonest man hissed his displeasure at the intrusion.

"Fast!" he said to Adam. "The name! Tell me the name!"

Dirt fell on Adam's head and a spider scurried across his face.

"Tell me!" shrieked the dishonest man, and then the covering of earth collapsed over Adam's head, blinding and burying him. Before his vision dimmed, he saw the dishonest man scurrying toward one of the tunnels to avoid the collapse. There was dirt in Adam's mouth and nose. He tried to breathe, but it got stuck in his throat. He drowned in the dirt. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders as he was pulled from the earth into the clean, clear air above him. His vision cleared, but he was still choking on dirt and bugs. Raymond's hands pumped onto Adam's body, forcing dirt and bugs out of his throat. Adam coughed up dirt and blood and bile and crawling things as his airway cleared, then lay on his side in the snow. The tears froze on his cheeks and his teeth chattered.

Raymond knelt beside him. "Adam," he said. "Talk to me. Tell me what happened."

Tell me. Tell me.

Raymond touched his hand to Adam's face and Adam felt himself flinch. Raymond also registered his reaction, because he immediately withdrew his hand and walked away from the boy.

"I want to go home," Adam whispered. "That's all. I just want to go home."

And he curled up in the snow and cried until he had no more tears to shed.

Chapter 23

From March of the Wolves

Adam sat on Scylla's back. Raymond did not ride with him, but led the horse back down the road by the reins. There was an unspoken tension between Raymond and Adam, and while the boy could see both Raymond's injury and its cause, he couldn't find a way to connect the two with an apology. The dishonest man had hinted at something about the relationship between Raymond and the lost Michael that Adam believed might be true, but he was less convinced of the implication that Raymond now had similar feelings for Adam himself. Deep down, he was sure it was wrong; Raymond had shown him nothing but kindness, and if there had been any ulterior motive behind his actions, it would have been revealed long ago.

Adam had taken a long time to recover. His throat hurt as he spoke, and he could still taste dirt in his mouth even after washing it out with icy water from the creek. Only after riding in silence for a long time was he able to tell Raymond what had happened underground.

"And that's all he asked of you?" Raymond said when Adam had repeated most of what had been said. "He wanted you to tell him your half brother's name?"

Adam nods. "He told me I could return home if I did."

"Do you believe him?"

Adam considered the question. "Yes," he said. "I think he could show me the way if he wanted to."

“Then you have to decide for yourself what to do. However, remember that nothing is free. The villagers learned this when they searched the remains of their homes. Everything has a price to pay, and it's a good idea to find out that price before making the deal. Your lumberjack friend called this fellow a cheater, and if he is, then nothing he says can be entirely trusted. Be careful when making a deal with him and listen carefully to his words, for he will say less than he means and hide more than he lets on.”

Raymond didn't look at Adam as he spoke, and those were the last words they exchanged for many miles. When they stopped to rest that evening, they sat on opposite sides of the small fire Raymond had made and ate in silence. Raymond had taken the saddle off Scylla's back and placed it against a tree, far from where he had laid Adam's blanket.

"You can rest easy," he said. "I am not tired and will guard the forest while you sleep."

Adam thanked him. He lay down and closed his eyes, but he couldn't sleep.

He thought of wolves and Loups, of his father and Violet and Tommie, of his lost mother and the offer the dishonest man had made. He wanted to leave this place. If all that was required was to share Tommie's name with the dishonest man, then perhaps he should. But the dishonest man would not come back now that Raymond was on guard, and Adam felt his anger at Raymond begin to grow. Raymond used it: his promise of protection and guidance to the king's castle came at too high a price. Adam was being dragged along in search of a man he had never met, a man only Raymond had feelings for, and those feelings, if the dishonest man was to be believed, were not natural. There were names for men like Raymond where Adam came from. They were among the worst names you could call a man. Adam had always been warned to keep away from such people, and here he was in company with one of them in a foreign land. Well, soon their paths would part. Raymond reckoned that they would reach the castle the next day and there they would finally learn the truth about Micheal's fate. After that, Raymond would lead him to the king, and then their agreement would be over. that they would reach the castle the next day and there they would finally learn the truth about Micheal's fate. After that, Raymond would lead him to the king, and then their agreement would be over. that they would reach the castle the next day and there they would finally learn the truth about Micheal's fate. After that, Raymond would lead him to the king, and then their agreement would be over.

While Adam slept and Raymond brooded, the man named Fletcher knelt by the walls of his village, bow in hand, a quiver of arrows at his side. Others crouched beside him, their faces lit by torches again, as they had when preparing to face the beast. They looked out at the forest ahead, for even in the darkness they knew it was no longer empty and silent.

Shapes moved through the trees, thousands and thousands of them. They trotted on all fours, gray and white and black, but among them were also those who walked on two legs, dressed like men but with faces bearing the marks of the beasts they once were.

Fletcher trembled. So this was the wolf army he had heard about. He had never seen so many animals moving as one, not even when he had looked up at the late summer sky and watched the birds migrating. But they were more than animals now. They moved with a purpose that went beyond a mere desire to hunt or breed. With the Loups at their head to enforce discipline and plan the campaign, they represented an amalgamation of all that was most terrifying about humans and wolves.

The king's forces would not be strong enough to defeat them on a battlefield.

One of the Loups emerged from the pack and paused at the edge of the forest, staring at the men crouched behind the defenses of their small village. He was more elegantly dressed than the others, and even from this distance Fletcher could tell he looked more human than the others, although he could not yet be mistaken for a man.

Lobo: the wolf who would be king.

During the long wait for the beast to come, Raymond Fletcher had shared what he knew about the wolves and the loups and how Adam had defeated them.

Although Fletcher wished only health and happiness to the mercenary and the boy, he was very glad that they were no longer within the walls of the village.

Lobo knows, Fletcher thought. He knows they were here, and if he suspected they were still with us, he would attack with all the fury of his army.

Fletcher stood up and stared across the open ground to where Lobo was standing.

"What you are doing?" whispered someone nearby.

"I will not duck from an animal," Fletcher said. "I'm not going to give that thing the satisfaction."

Lobo nodded, as if understanding Fletcher's gesture, then slowly stroked his throat with a clawed finger. He would come back as soon as the king was done and they would see how brave Fletcher and the others really were. Then Lobo turned to rejoin the pack, leaving the men to watch in a swoon as the great wolf army marched through the woods on their quest to conquer the kingdom.

Chapter 24

From the thorn fortress

Adam awoke the next morning to find Raymond gone. The fire had gone out and Scylla was no longer tied to her tree. Adam Violet and stood where the horse's tracks disappeared into the forest. First he felt concern, then a kind of relief, followed by anger at Raymond for abandoning him without a word of goodbye, and finally the first tinge of fear. Suddenly the prospect of facing the dishonest man alone again wasn't so tempting, and the possibility of the wolves running into him was even less tempting. He drank from his canteen. His hand was shaking. As a result, he spilled water all over his shirt.

He wiped at it and caught the rough material with the sharp end of a fingernail. A thread came loose and as he tried to free it, his nail ripped further, causing him to yelp in pain. In a fit of rage, he threw the canteen against the nearest tree, then sat down hard on the ground and buried his head in his hands.

"And what was that for?" said Raymond's voice.

Adam looked up. Raymond watched him from the edge of the woods, perched high on Scylla's back.

"I thought you left me," Adam said.

"Why do you think that?"

Adam shrugged. Now he was ashamed of his irritation and his doubts about his mate. He tried to hide it by being attacked. "I woke up and you were gone," he replied. "What should I have thought?"

“That I explored the way forward. I haven't left you for very long and I believed that you are safe here. There are rocks not far underground here, so our friend couldn't use his tunnels against you, and I was in earshot the whole time. You had no reason to doubt me.”

Raymond dismounted and walked to where Adam was sitting, leading Scylla behind him.

"We haven't been the way we used to be since that nasty little man dragged you under the ground," Raymond said. 'I think I have an idea of??what he told you about me. My feelings for Michael are mine, and only mine. I loved him and that's all anyone needs to know. The rest is nobody's business.

"As for you, you are my friend. You are brave, and you are both stronger than you look and stronger than you believe. You are trapped in an unknown land, with only a stranger for company, and yet you have braved wolves, trolls, a beast that had destroyed a force of armed men, and the tainted promises of what you call the dishonest man. Through all this I've never seen you desperate. When I agreed to bring you to the king, I thought you would be a burden, but instead you have proven that you deserve respect and trust. I hope I have proven myself worthy of your respect and trust, for without them we are both lost. are you coming with me now We have almost reached our goal.”

He held out his hand to Adam. The boy took it and Raymond lifted him to his feet.

"I'm sorry," Adam said.

"You have nothing to regret," Raymond said. "But gather your things, because the end is near."

They only rode for a short time, but as they traveled the air around them changed.

The hair on Adam's head and arms stood on end. He could feel the static electricity as he touched her with his hand. The wind blew a strange smell from the west, musty and dry, like the inside of a crypt. The Land of Violet below them until they came to the top of a hill, and there they stopped and looked down.

Ahead, like a speck in the snow, lay the dark shape of a fortress. Adam thought of it as a shape rather than a fortress itself because there was something very peculiar about it. He could make out a central tower, walls, and outbuildings, but they were slightly blurred, like the lines of a watercolor on damp paper. It was standing in the middle of the forest, but all the trees around it had been felled as if by a great explosion. Here and there Adam caught the glint of metal on the battlements. Birds hovered overhead and the dry smell grew stronger.

"Carrion birds," Raymond said, pointing. "They feed on the dead."

Adam knew what he was thinking: Michael had entered this place and had not returned.

"Maybe you should stay here," Raymond said. "It will be safer for you."

Adam looked around. The trees here were different from the others he had seen.

They were twisted and ancient, their bark diseased and punctured. They looked like old men and women frozen in agony. He didn't want to be alone among them.

"Safer?" asked Adam. “Wolves are chasing me, and who knows what else lives in these woods? If you leave me here, I'll follow you on foot anyway. I might even be useful to you in there. I didn't abandon you in the village when the beast was after me, and I won't abandon you now either,” he said firmly.

Raymond didn't argue with him. Together they rode to the fortress. As they walked through the forest, they heard voices whispering. The sounds seemed to come from within the trees and through the openings in their trunks, but whether they were the voices of the trees themselves or of unseen things dwelling within them Adam could not tell. Twice he thought he saw movement in the holes, and once he was sure eyes had been staring at him from deep within the tree, but when he told Raymond the mercenary said simply, "Don't be afraid. Whatever they are, they have nothing to do with the fortress. They are none of our business unless they make themselves so.”

Still, he slowly drew his sword back as he rode, leaving it hanging at Scylla's side, ready for use.

The forest was so dense with trees that the fortress was lost as they walked through it, so it came as something of a shock to Adam when they finally emerged into the devastated landscape of fallen logs. The force of the blast, or whatever it was, had ripped the trees out of the ground, leaving their roots exposed over deep hollows. At the epicenter was the fortress, and now Adam could see why it had appeared blurry from afar. It was entirely covered with brown creepers, which twined around the central tower and covered the walls and battlements, and from the creepers grew dark thorns, some a good foot long and thicker than Adam's wrist. It might have been possible to try with the creepers

They rode around the fortress until they came to the gates. They were open, but the creepers had formed a barrier in front of the entrance. Through the gaps between the thorns, Adam could see a courtyard and a closed door at the base of the central tower. Armor lay on the ground in front of it, but there was no helmet and no head.

"Raymond," Adam said. "This knight..."

But Raymond looked neither at the gates nor at the knight. His head was raised and his eyes were fixed on the battlements. Adam followed his gaze and spotted what had been gleaming on the walls from afar.

The men's heads had been impaled on the top thorns facing the gates. Some still wore their helmets, though their face shields had been pulled up or torn off to show their faces, while others had no armor at all.

Most were little more than skulls, and although there were three or four who were still recognizable as males, they looked as if they had no flesh on their faces, just a thin layer of grey, papery skin over their bones. Raymond examined each in turn, until finally he had stared each dead man in the face on the battlements. He looked relieved when he was done. "Micheal is not one of those people I can identify," he said. "I don't see his face or his armor."

He dismounted and approached the entrance. He drew his sword and cut off one of the thorns. It fell to the ground, and immediately another grew in its place, even longer and thicker than the severed one. It grew so fast that it almost stabbed Raymond in the chest before he managed to dodge it just in time.

Next, Raymond attempted to hack through the creeper himself, but his sword inflicted only the slightest cut, and the damage again repaired itself before his eyes.

Raymond stepped back and sheathed his sword.

"There must be a way in," he said. "How else did this knight gain entry before he died? We will wait. We will wait and we will watch. In time, perhaps, it will reveal its secrets to us.” They settled themselves, after lighting a small fire to keep the cold at bay, and kept a silent, uneasy vigil at the Keep of Thorns.

Night fell, or the greater darkness that only deepened the shadows of day and served as night in this world. The whispering from the forest, which had continued as they rounded the fortress, stopped abruptly as the moon approached. The carrion birds disappeared. Adam and Raymond were alone.

A faint light appeared in the tower's top window, then was blocked as a figure walked past the opening. It stopped and seemed to stare at the man and boy below, then disappeared.

"I saw it," Raymond said before Adam could open his mouth.

"It looked like a woman," Adam said.

It was the sorceress, he thought, watching over the sleeping lady in the tower.

The moonlight shone on the armor of the dead impaled on the battlements, reminding him of the danger he and Raymond now faced. They must all have been armed as they approached the fortress, and yet they had died. The body of the knight lying behind the gates was huge, at least a foot taller than Raymond and almost as wide as he was. Whoever guarded the tower was strong and swift and very, very cruel.

Then, as they watched, the creepers and thorns blocking the gates began to move.

They slowly separated, creating an entrance for a man to walk through. It gaped like an open maw, the long thorns like teeth waiting to bite.

"It's a trap," Adam said. "It must be."

Raymond got up.

"What choice do I have?" he said. "I need to find out what happened to Michael. I didn't come all this way to sit on the ground and stare at walls and thorns."

He placed his shield on his left arm. He didn't look scared. In fact, he looked happier to Adam than he had ever been since they met. Tormented by what might have happened to him, he had traveled from his own country to find an answer to his friend's disappearance. Whatever happened within the fortress walls now, and whether he lived or died, he would finally learn the truth about the end of Michael's journey.

"Stay here and let the fire burn," Raymond said. "If I haven't returned by daybreak, take Scylla and ride as fast as you can from this place. Scylla is now your horse as much as mine because I think she loves you as much as she loves me. Stay on the road and it will eventually lead you to the king's castle."

He smiled down at Adam. “It was an honor to travel these roads with you.

If we don't meet again, I hope you find your home and the answers you seek.”

They shook hands. Adam shed no tears. He wanted to be as brave as he thought Raymond would be. Only later did he wonder if Raymond was really brave. He knew Raymond believed Michael was dead and wanted revenge on whoever killed him. But he also felt, as Raymond walked toward the waiting fortress, that part of the knight didn't want to live without Michael and that for him, death was preferable to life alone.

Adam escorted Raymond to the gates. As they approached, Raymond looked anxiously up at the waiting thorns, as if afraid they would approach him once he was within reach. But they didn't budge, and Raymond passed the gap without incident. He stepped over the knight's armor and pushed open the door of the tower. He looked back at Adam, raised his sword in a final farewell, and walked into the shadows. The creepers on the gates spun and the thorns spread, reestablishing the barrier over the entrance to the courtyard, and then all was still again.

The dishonest man watched what had happened from his perch on the top branch of the tallest tree in the forest. The creatures that dwelt in the logs did not bother him, for they feared the dishonest more than almost any other creature that lived in this land. The thing in the fortress was ancient and cruel, but the dishonest was older and even crueler. He stared down at the boy sitting by the fire and Scylla standing unattached beside him, for she was a brave, intelligent horse and would not easily be frightened or desert her rider. The dishonest man was tempted to go back to Adam and ask the child's name, but changed his mind. A night alone at the edge of the forest, overlooking the fortress of thorns and guarded by the heads of dead knights,

Because the dishonest man knew that the knight Raymond would never get out of the fortress alive, and Adam was once again alone in the world.

Time passed slowly for Adam. He fed the fire with sticks and waited for Raymond to return. Sometimes he felt Scylla nuzzling his neck gently, reminding him that she was close to him. He was glad of the horse's presence. Her strength and her loyalty reassured him.

But fatigue was beginning to get the better of him, and his mind was playing tricks on him. He fell asleep for a second or two and immediately started dreaming. He caught a glimpse of his homeland, and incidents of the last few days repeated in his mind, their stories intersecting as wolves and dwarves and the beast's young all became part of the same story. He heard his mother's voice calling to him, as she had sometimes done when the pain in her final days had become too much for her, and then her face was replaced by Violet's, as was his place in the His father's affections had been taken by Tommie.

But was that true? He suddenly realized that he missed Tommie and the feeling was so surprising to him that he almost woke up. He remembered the baby smiling at him or gripping his finger in his thick fist. He might be loud and smelly and demanding, but all babies were like that. It wasn't Tommie's fault, not really.

Then the image of Tommie faded and Adam saw Raymond walking down a long, dark corridor, sword in hand. He was inside the tower, but the tower itself was a kind of illusion, and within it were hidden many rooms and corridors, each containing traps for the unwary. Raymond entered a large circular chamber, and in his dream Adam saw Raymond's eyes widen in disbelief and the walls redden as something in the shadows called Adam's name...

Adam woke up abruptly. He was still by the fire, but the flames were almost gone.

Raymond had not returned. Adam got up and walked towards the gate. Scylla whinnied nervously as he walked away, but she stayed by the fire. Adam stood in front of the gate, then he reached out and gently touched one of the thorns with his finger. Immediately, the creepers retreated, the thorns retreated, and an opening in the barrier was exposed. Adam looked back at Scylla and the dying embers of the fire. I should go now, he thought. I shouldn't even wait for dawn. Scylla will take me to the king and he will tell me what to do.

But still he lingered at the gates. Despite what Raymond had told him what to do if he didn't return, Adam didn't want to let his friend down. And as he faced the thorns, uncertain how to proceed, he heard a voice calling to him.

"Adam," it whispered. "Come to me, please come to me."

It was his mother's voice.

"This is where I was taken," the voice continued. “When the illness took hold of me, I fell asleep and passed from our world into this one. Now she watches over me. I can't wake up and I can't escape. help me Adam If you love me, please help me..."

"Mom," Adam said. "I'm afraid."

"You've come this far and you've been so brave," said the voice. "I watched you in my dreams. I'm so proud of you Adam. Just a few steps further.

Just a little more courage, that's all I ask for."

Adam reached into his backpack and found the beast's claw. He held it tightly in his hand before putting it in his pocket and thinking about Fletcher's words. He had been brave once, and he could be brave again for his mother. The dishonest man, still watching from the trees, noticed what was happening and began to move. He jumped off his perch, climbed from branch to branch and landed like a cat on the ground, but he was too late. Adam had entered the fortress and the barrier of thorns had closed behind him.

The dishonest man howled in anger, but Adam, already lost to the fortress, did not hear him.

Chapter 25

Of the Sorceress and what became of Michael and Raymond

THE COURTYARD was paved with black and white stones stained with the droppings of the carrion birds that soared over the fort during the day. Carved stairs led up to the battlements; Beside them were shelves of weapons, but the spears, swords, and shields were rusted and unusable. Some of the weapons had fantastic designs, intricate spirals and delicate interwoven chains of silver and bronze reflected on the sword hilts and shield faces.

Adam couldn't equate the beauty of the craftsmanship with the eerie place it now occupied. It suggested that the castle hadn't always been what it was now. It had been taken over by a malevolent creature, a cuckoo, who had turned it into a spiky, crawling nest, and its original inhabitants had either died or fled when it came.

Now that he was inside, Adam could see signs of damage: mostly hollow pits where the walls and courtyard had absorbed the brunt of the cannon fire. It was clear that the castle was very old, but the fallen trees surrounding it suggested that what Raymond heard and what Fletcher claimed to have seen, strange as it was, was actually the case. The castle could move through the air and travel to new places with the cycles of the moon.

There were stables beneath the walls, but they were empty of hay and showed no trace of the healthy animal smells that such places had built up over time. Instead, only the bones of the horses starved to death after the death of their masters remained, and the lingering stench from within was a reminder of their slow decay. Opposite them and on either side of the central tower were what might once have been the guards' quarters and kitchens. Adam cautiously peered through the windows of each, but both were utterly lifeless. There were bare bunks in the guardhouse and cold, empty ovens in the kitchens. Plates and cups lay on the tables as if a meal had been disrupted and the eaters had never had a chance to return to their meal.

Adam went to the door of the tower. The knight's body lay at his feet, a sword still in his large hand. The sword was not rusted and the knight's armor still shone. He also carried a branch of a white flower stuck in a hole in his shoulder armor. It hadn't completely dried up yet, so Adam guessed his body hadn't been there very long. There was no blood on his neck or on the floor around him. Adam didn't know much about the mechanics of chopping off a man's head, but he figured there would be at least some blood.

He wondered who the knight was and if, like Raymond, he wore some device on his breastplate to identify him. The giant knight was lying chest down and Adam wasn't sure if he could turn him over. Despite this, he decided that the dead knight's identity should not remain unknown, just in case he found a way to tell someone what had happened to him.

Adam knelt and took a deep breath, then pushed hard against the armor. To his surprise, the remains of the knight moved ever so slightly. The armor, while heavy, was not as heavy as it should have been with a man's body inside. When he managed to turn the knight over, Adam could see the mark of an eagle on his breastplate, a serpent coiling in its claws. He tapped the armor with the knuckles of his right hand. The sound echoed in it; It was like tapping on an empty can. It seemed that the armor was empty.

But no, that wasn't the case, for Adam heard and felt something move as he rolled the armor, and when he examined the hole at the top where the head had been severed from the body, he saw bone and Skin. The top of the spine was white where the head had been severed from the body, but even here there was no blood. Somehow the armored knight's remains had become a husk, rotting into almost nothing so quickly that the flower he'd been carrying, thankfully perhaps, hadn't had time to die yet.

Adam considered escaping the fortress, but he knew that even if he tried, thorns would not part for him. This was a place to enter but not leave, and despite his doubts, he had heard his mother's voice calling to him again. If she was really here, then he couldn't abandon her now.

Adam stepped over the fallen knight and entered the tower. A series of stone steps spiraled upwards. He listened hard, but couldn't hear a sound from above. He wanted to call out his mother's name or call for Raymond, but he was afraid to alert the presence in the tower to his approach. But perhaps what waited in the tower already knew he was in the fortress and had split the thorns to allow him passage. Still, it seemed wiser to be quiet than to be loud, and he didn't speak like that. He remembered the figure that had walked through the lighted window and the story of the sorceress who cast a spell over a woman and condemned her to an eternal, timeless sleep in a treasury, if she couldn't be awakened by a kiss. Could this woman be his mother? The answer was above.

He drew his sword and began to climb. There were small, narrow windows every ten paces, and these let a little light into the tower so Adam could see where he was going. He counted a dozen such windows before he reached the stone floor at the top of the tower. Before him stretched a corridor with open doors on either side. From the outside, the tower appeared twenty or thirty feet wide, but the corridor ahead was so long that its end disappeared into shadow. It must have been hundreds of feet long, lit by flaming torches set into the walls, but somehow it was locked in a tower only a fraction of that size.

Adam walked slowly down the hall, looking into every room.

Some were bedrooms, opulently furnished with huge beds and velvet curtains.

Others contained sofas and chairs. One housed a grand piano and nothing else.

The walls of another were adorned with hundreds of similar versions of a painting: a picture of two male children, identical twins, with a painting of themselves in the background, which was an exact replica of the picture they were sitting on, staring out into infinity versions of themselves.

Halfway down the hall was a huge dining room dominated by a huge oak table with a hundred chairs around it. Candles were lit along its length and their light shone on a great feast: there were roast turkeys and geese and ducks and a huge pig with an apple in its mouth for the centerpiece. There were platters of fish and cold cuts, and large pots of steamed vegetables. It all smelled so wonderful that Adam was pulled into the room, unable to resist the urging of his growling stomach. Someone had begun to carve one of the turkeys, for its leg had been removed and slivers of white meat had been cut from its breast and now lay tender and moist on a plate. Adam picked up one of the pieces and was about to take a big bite of it, when he saw an insect crawling across the table. It was a big red ant, and it was making its way to a piece of skin that had fallen off the turkey. It clutched the crisp, brown morsel in its jaws and prepared to carry it away, but suddenly it seemed to stagger on its feet, as if its load were heavier than it had anticipated. It dropped skin, wiggled a little more, and then stopped moving entirely. Adam poked at it with his finger, but the insect didn't respond. it was dead but suddenly it seemed to stagger on its feet, as if its burden were heavier than it had expected. It dropped skin, wiggled a little more, and then stopped moving completely. Adam poked at it with his finger, but the insect didn't respond. it was dead but suddenly it seemed to stagger on its feet, as if its burden were heavier than it had expected. It dropped skin, wiggled a little more, and then stopped moving entirely. Adam poked at it with his finger, but the insect didn't respond. it was dead

Adam dropped his piece of turkey on the table and quickly wiped his fingers clean. Looking more closely now, he could see that the table was littered with the remains of dead insects. The corpses of flies, bugs and ants were strewn on the wood and plates, all poisoned by what was in the food.

Adam backed away from the table and returned to the hallway, his appetite gone completely.

But if the dining room disgusted him, the next room he looked into was even more unsettling. It was his bedroom in Violet's house, perfectly recreated except for the books on the shelves, although it was tidier than Adam's room had ever been. The bed was made, but the pillows and sheets were slightly yellowed and covered with a thin layer of dust. There was dust on the shelves too, and when Adam entered, he left footprints on the floor. In front of him was the window to the garden. It was open and there was noise outside, laughter and singing. He walked over to the glass and looked out. Down in the garden three people were dancing in a circle: Adam's father Violet and a boy Adam didn't recognize but immediately recognized as Tommie. Tommie was older now, maybe four or five, but still a chubby kid.

"Tommie Porgie, Pudding and Pie," they sang to him, "kissed the girls and made them cry!"

And Tommie laughed with delight as bees buzzed and birds sang.

"They forgot you," Adam's mother's voice said. "This used to be your room, but now no one comes in here. Your father did initially, but then he came to terms with your leaving and instead took a liking to his other child and new wife. She's pregnant again, although she doesn't know it yet. There will be a sister for Tommie, and then your father will have two children again, and memories of you will no longer be necessary."

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, from inside Adam and from the corridor outside, from the floor beneath his feet and the ceiling above his head, from the bricks in the walls and the books on the shelves. For a moment Adam even saw her reflected in the glass of the window, a faded vision of his mother standing behind him, looking over his shoulder. When he turned around, no one was there, but her reflection still remained in the glass.

"It doesn't have to be," said his mother's voice. The lips of the image in the glass moved, but they seemed to be saying different words, for their movements didn't quite match the words Adam heard. "Stay a little brave and strong. Find me here and we can have our old lives again. Violet and Tommie will be gone, and you and I will take their places.”

Now the voices from the garden below had changed. They sang and laughed no more. Looking down, Adam saw his father mowing the lawn and his mother cutting a bush of violets with secateurs, carefully cutting off each branch and tossing the red flowers into a basket at their feet. And on a bench between them sat Adam reading a book.

"Do you see? Do you see how it can be? Now come on, we've been apart for too long. It's time we were together again. But beware: she will watch and wait. When you see me, don't look left or right, just keep your eyes on my face and everything will be fine.”

The image disappeared from the glass and the figures disappeared from the garden below. A cold violet wind that kicks up dust ghosts in the room and darkens everything in it. The dust made Adam cough and his eyes watered. He backed out of the room and leaned forward in the hallway, hacking and spitting.

A sound came from nearby: the sound of a door slamming and locking from inside. He spun around and a second door slammed shut and latched, then another. The door to every room he had passed shut tightly. Now his bedroom door was suddenly closed in front of him, and all the doors in front of him began to close as well. Only the torches on the walls lit his way, and suddenly they too began to go out, starting with those closest to the stairs. It was now complete darkness behind him and moving quickly. Soon the entire hallway would be plunged into darkness.

Adam ran, desperately trying to stay one step ahead of the approaching shadows, his ears ringing from the sound of slamming doors. He moved as fast as he could, his feet slapping the hard stone floor, but the lights went out faster than he could walk. He saw the torches go out directly behind him, then those on either side, and finally those in front of him go out. He kept running, hoping that somehow he could catch up with her, that he wouldn't be left alone in the dark. Then the last torches died down and darkness was complete.

"No!" shouted Adam. "Mom! Raymond! I can't see. Help me!"

But nobody answered. Adam stopped, unsure of what to do. He didn't know what lay ahead, but he knew the stairs were behind him. If he turned back and followed the wall, he could find her again, but he would also abandon his mother and Raymond if he was still alive. If he went on, he would stumble blindly into the unknown, easy prey for the "she" his mother's voice had spoken of, the sorceress who guarded this place with thorns and creepers, turning men in armor and heads into cloaks of battlements.

And then Adam saw a tiny light in the distance, like a firefly, hovering in the darkness, and his mother's voice said, "Adam, don't be afraid. you are almost there Don't give up now."

He did as he was told and the light grew stronger and brighter until he saw it was a lamp hanging high above his head. The outline of an archway slowly became visible to him. Adam drew nearer and nearer until finally he stood at the entrance of a large chamber whose vaulted ceiling was supported by four huge stone pillars. The walls and pillars were covered with tendrils of thorns much thicker than those guarding the walls and gates of the fortress, the thorns so long and sharp that some were taller than Adam himself. Between each pair of pillars hung a lamp on an ornate iron frame, and their light shone upon chests of coins and ornaments, upon chalices and gilded picture frames, upon swords and shields, all gleaming with gold and jewels. It was a greater treasure than most people could imagine, but Adam barely glanced at it. Instead, his attention was drawn to a raised stone altar in the center of the room. A woman lay on the altar, still as the dead. She wore a red velvet dress and had her hands clasped in front of her chest. As Adam looked more closely, he saw the rise and fall of her breathing. So this was the sleeping lady, the victim of the sorceress' spell.

Adam entered the chamber and the flickering light from the lamps caught something bright and shiny high up on the wall of thorns to his right. He turned around, his stomach clenching so badly at what he saw that he bent over in pain.

Raymond's body was impaled on one of the large spikes ten feet off the ground.

The tip had passed through his chest and erupted from his breastplate, destroying the image of the twin suns. There was a streak of blood on his armor, but not very much. Raymond's face was thin and gray, his cheeks sunken and his skull sharp under the skin. Beside Raymond's body lay that of another, also wearing the armor of the Twin Suns: Micheal. Raymond had finally found out the truth about his friend's disappearance.

And they weren't alone. The vaulted chamber was littered with human remains, like drained flies in a tangle of thorns. Some of them had been there a very long time, for their armor was rusted red and brown, and those that had heads were no more than skeletons.

Adam's anger overcame his fear, and his anger overcame all thoughts of escape. In that moment, he became more man than boy, and his transition into adulthood began in earnest. He walked slowly towards the sleeping woman, turning in slow circles constantly so that no hidden threat could sneak up on him unnoticed. He remembered his mother's warning not to look left or right, but the sight of Raymond impaled on the wall made him want to confront the sorceress and kill her for what she had done to his friend.

"Come out," he called. "Show yourself!"

But nothing moved in the chamber, and no one answered his challenge. The only word he heard, half real, half imaginary, was "Adam" spoken in his mother's voice.

"Mom," he said in response. "I'm here."

He was now at the stone altar. A five-step staircase led to the sleeping woman.

He climbed it slowly, still aware of the unseen menace, the killer of Raymond and Michael and all the men hanging from the walls, pierced and hollow. Finally he reached the altar and looked down at the face of the sleeping woman. It was his mother. Her skin was very white, but her cheeks had a tinge of pink, and her lips were full and moist. Her red hair glowed like fire on the stone.

"Kiss me," Adam heard her say, though her mouth stayed silent. "Kiss me and we'll be together again."

Adam placed his sword beside her and leaned down to kiss her cheek. His lips touched her skin. She was very cold, even colder than when she had been lying in her open coffin, so cold that her touch was painful for him. It numbed his lips and calmed his tongue, and his breath turned into ice crystals that sparkled like tiny diamonds in the still air. As he broke contact with her, his name was called again, but this time it was a man's voice, not a woman's.

"Adam!"

He looked around, trying to find the source of the noise. There was movement on the wall. It was Raymond. His left hand waved weakly, then grasped the thorn protruding from his chest, as if that would allow him to concentrate the last of his strength and say what needed to be said. His head moved and with one last great effort he forced the words from his lips.

"Adam," he whispered. "Beware!"

Raymond raised his right hand and pointed his index finger at the figure on the altar before it fell away. Then his body sagged on the spike as life finally passed him.

Adam looked down at the sleeping woman and her eyes opened. It wasn't Adam's mother's eyes. Her eyes were green and loving and kind. Those eyes were black, colorless, like lumps of coal in the snow. The face of the sleeping woman had also changed. She was no longer Adam's mother, although he still knew her. Now she was Violet, his father's lover. Her hair was black, not red, and it pooled like liquid night. Her lips parted and Adam saw that her teeth were very white and very sharp, the canines longer than the others. He took a step back and nearly fell off the dais as the woman sat up on her stone bed. She stretched like a cat, her spine arched and her arms tensed. The shawl around her shoulders fell down, exposing an alabaster neck and the tips of her breasts. Adam saw drops of blood on them, like a necklace of rubies frozen on their skin. The woman turned on the stone and let her dress drape over the side. Those jet black eyes regarded Adam, and her pale tongue licked the tips of her teeth.

"Thank you," she said. Her voice was soft and quiet, but her words had a hissing undertone, as if a snake had been given the power to speak.

"Sssso a handsome boy. Sssso a brave boy.”

Adam backed away, but with every step he took the woman a step forward so that the distance between them always remained the same.

"Aren't I beautiful?" she asked. Her head tilted slightly and her face looked worried. "Am I not pretty enough for you? Come on, kiss me again."

She was violet, but not violet. It was night without the promise of dawn, darkness without light. Adam grabbed his sword and then noticed that it was still on the altar. To get there, he had to find a way past the woman, and he knew instinctively that if he tried to slip past her, she would kill him.

She seemed to guess what he was thinking because she glanced back at the sword.

"You don't need it now," she said. “Never let a ssso young ssso far. Sssso young and ssso beautiful.”

A slender finger, the nail smeared with blood, touched her lips.

"Here," she whispered. "Kiss me here."

Adam saw his reflection drowning in her dark eyes, sinking into their depths and knew what his destiny would be. He spun on his heel and jumped the last few steps, awkwardly twisting his right ankle as he landed. The pain was bad, but he wouldn't let it stop him. On the ground in front of him lay the sword of one of the dead knights. If only he could get to it -

A figure slid over his head, the hem of her robe brushing his hair, and the woman appeared before him. Her bare feet didn't touch the ground. She hung in the air, red and black, blood and night. She stopped smiling. She parted her lips and bared her fangs, and suddenly her mouth looked larger than before, with a row of sharp teeth like the inside of a shark's mouth.

Her hands reached for Adam. "I'll have my kisses," she said as her nails sank into his shoulders and her head moved to Adam's lips.

Adam reached into his jacket pocket. His right hand sliced??through the air, and the beast's claw tore a jagged red line across the woman's face. The wound gaped, but no blood flowed, for she had no blood in her veins. She shrieked and clutched the wound as Adam struck again, slamming left to right, blinding her instantly. The woman attacked him with her fingernails, catching his hand and throwing the beast's claw away. Adam ran to the chamber door, not thinking of returning to the pitch-black hallway and finding his way to the stairs. But the creepers twisted and turned, blocking the way out and trapping him in space with Not-Violet.

She was still hanging in midair, her hands now stretched out from her sides, her eyes and face ruined. Adam moved away from the entrance and tried to get back to the fallen sword. The woman's blind eyes followed him.

"I can smell you," she said. "You will pay for what you did to me."

She flew towards Adam, her teeth snapping and her fingers clutching the air.

Adam darted right, then left again, hoping he could fool her and reach the sword, but she was too smart for him and cut him off. She moved back and forth in front of him, so fast she was little more than a speck in the air, always advancing, blocking any escape route and pushing him back against the thorns, until finally she was only a few yards away. Adam felt sharp pains in his neck and back. He stood at the tips of thorns, long and sharp as spears. He had nowhere to go. The woman's hand snapped in the air, missing his face by inches.

"Now," she hissed, "you're mine. I will love you and you will die to love me."

Her spine straightened and her mouth opened so wide her skull nearly split in half, teeth straining to rip open Adam's throat. She darted forward and Adam threw himself on the floor, waiting until she was almost on top of him before he moved. Her dress covered his face so he heard but didn't see what happened next. There was a sound like puncturing a rotten fruit, and a foot kicked his head once, but only once.

Adam rolled out from under the folds of red velvet. The thorns had pierced the woman through the heart and side. Her right hand was also impaled, but her left hand was free. It trembled against a creeper, the only part of her that moved. Adam could see her face. She didn't look like Violet anymore. Her hair had turned silver and her skin was old and wrinkled. A damp, musty smell came from the wounds in her body. Her lower jaw hung loose on her wrinkled chest.

Her nostrils flared at the smell of Adam and she tried to speak. At first her voice was so weak he couldn't hear what she was saying. He leaned closer to her, still suspicious even though he knew she was dying. Her breath stank of rot, but this time he understood her words.

"Thank you," she whispered, and then her body sagged against the thorns and crumbled to dust before his eyes.

And as she vanished, the creepers began to wither and die, and the remains of the dead knights clattered to the ground. Adam ran to where Raymond was lying. His body was almost bloodless. Adam wanted to cry for him, but no tears came. Instead, he dragged Raymond's remains up the steps to the stone bed and, with some effort, laid him down on it. He did the same for Michael, laying his body at Raymond's side. He placed their swords on their chests and folded their hands on the hilts, just as he had seen dead knights laid out in his books. He retrieved his own sword and sheathed it, then took one of the lamps from its stand and used it to find his way back up the stairs of the tower.

The long corridor with its many rooms was gone now, and in its place remained only dusty stones and crumbling walls. When he came outside he saw that here too the creepers and thorns had withered and all that was left was an old fortress, destroyed and in ruins. Beyond the gates, Scylla was waiting for him by the ashes of the fire. She whinnied with delight when she saw him coming. Adam put his hand on her forehead and whispered something in her ear, letting her know what fate had befallen her beloved master. Then at last he mounted the saddle and turned her towards the woods and the road to the east.

All was still as they passed through the trees, for the things that dwelt within them heard Adam coming and were afraid. Even the dishonest, who had returned to his place among the topmost branches, looked at the boy with new eyes now, considering how best to use this latest development to his advantage.

Chapter 26

Of two murders and two kings

ADAM AND SCYLLA followed the road east. Adam's eyes stared straight ahead, but they took in little of what lay ahead. Scylla's head hung lower than before, as if she, too, were mourning her master's death in her gentle, dignified way. Snow glistened in the eternal twilight, and icicles hung like frozen tears from the bushes and trees.

Raymond was dead. So was Adam's mother. He'd been a fool to imagine otherwise. Now, as the horse trudged through this cold, dark world, Adam was perhaps acknowledging for the first time that he had always known his mother was gone. He just wanted to believe something else. It was like the routines he used while she was ill in hopes that maybe they would keep her alive.

They were false hopes, baseless dreams, insubstantial like the voice he had followed here. He couldn't change the world he left, and that world had ultimately frustrated him while taunting him with the possibility that things could be different. It was time to go home. If the king couldn't help him, he might be forced to make a deal with the dishonest man after all. All he had to do was say Tommie's name out loud to him.

But hadn't the dishonest one told him that everything could go back to the way it was? That was a lie. His mother was dead and the world she had been a part of was gone forever. Even if he went back, it would go to a place where she was just a memory. Home was now a place shared with Violet and Tommie, and it had to be made the best of it, for his sake as well as theirs. If the dishonest man's promise could not be kept, what other promises could he break?

It was, as Raymond had warned, "He will say less than he means and hide more than he reveals."

Any trade with the dishonest man would be fraught with potential pitfalls and dangers. Adam had only to hope that the king would be able and willing to assist him so that he could avoid any further contact with the impostor. But what he had heard about the king so far made him doubt. Raymond had clearly thought little of him, and even the woodcutter had admitted that the king's rule over his kingdom was not what it used to be. Now, faced with the threat of Lobo and his wolf army, the king might be put to the test. His kingdom would be taken from him by force and he would die in Lobo's jaws. With the burden of that knowledge on his shoulders, would he even have time for the troubles of a boy lost in the world?

And what about the book itself, the Book of Lost Things? What could be contained within their pages that would help Adam return home: a map to another hollow tree perhaps, or a spell that could conjure him back? But if the book had magical properties, why couldn't the king use it to protect his kingdom? Adam hoped the king wasn't like the Great Oz, all smoke and mirrors and good intentions but with no real power to back him.

Adam was so lost in his own thoughts and used to empty streets that he didn't see the men until they were almost up to him. There were two of them, mostly dressed in rags, with shawls covering their faces so that only their eyes were visible. One carried a short sword, the other a ready bow with a notched arrow on the string. Plunging from the undergrowth, they threw aside the white furs with which they had cloaked themselves and faced Adam with raised weapons.

"Just!" yelled the man with the sword, and Adam stopped Scylla a few steps from where she was.

The one with the bow blinked down the length of his arrow, then eased the pressure on the string as he lowered the weapon.

"Why, it's just a boy," he said. His voice was hoarse and rumbled with threat.

He lowered the scarf from his face, revealing a mouth distorted by a vertical scar cutting across his lips. His companion threw back the hood of his head. Most of his nose had been cut off. All that was left was a mess of scarred cartilage with two holes in the middle.

"Boy or not, that's a fine horse he rides," he said. “He has nothing to do with such an animal. He probably stole it himself, so it's not a sin to take what didn't belong to him in the first place.”

He grabbed Scylla's reins, but Adam pulled the horse back a step.

"I didn't steal them," he said softly.

"What?" said the thief. "What did you say boy? We won't have anything from your lip, or you won't live long enough to regret the day you met us."

He pointed his sword at Adam. It was primitive and crudely made, and Adam could see the whetstone marks on its blade. Scylla whinnied and stepped further away from the threat.

'I said,' Adam repeated, 'that I didn't steal her and she's not going anywhere with you. Now get away from us.”

"Why, you little..."

The swordsman grabbed Scylla's reins again, but this time Adam lifted her onto her hind legs and then urged her forward and down. One of her hooves caught the swordsman in the forehead and there was a hollow, cracking sound as the man fell dead. His fellow bandit was so shocked that he didn't react quickly enough. He was still trying to raise his bow when Adam spurred Scylla, his own sword now drawn and outstretched. He slashed at the archer, and the point of his sword caught the man in the throat, cutting through the rags to the flesh beneath. The bandit stumbled and his bow fell. He raised his hand to his neck and tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet, gurgling sound. Blood spurted through his fingers and spread across the snow.

Adam turned Scylla to face the dying man.

"I warned you!" shouted Adam. He was crying now, crying for Raymond and his mother and father, even crying for Tommie and Violet, for all the things he had lost, both those that could be named and those that could only be felt. "I asked you to leave us alone, but you wouldn't. Now look at what it got you.

You idiots! You stupid, stupid men!”

The archer's mouth opened and closed, and his lips formed words, but no sound came out. His eyes were on the boy. Adam narrowed her eyes, as if the archer couldn't quite make out what was being said or what was happening to him as he knelt in the snow and his blood pooled around him.

Then they slowly widened and calmed down as Death gave him an explanation.

Adam climbed off Scylla's back and checked her legs to make sure she hadn't injured herself during the confrontation. She seemed unharmed. There was blood on Adam's sword. He thought of wiping it clean on the ragged clothes of one of the dead, but he didn't want to touch the bodies. He didn't want to clean it on his own clothes either, because then her blood would be on him.

He opened his backpack and found a piece of old muslin that Fletcher had wrapped some cheese in and used the material to get rid of the blood. He threw the bloody cloth on the snow before kicking the bodies of the dead into the ditch. He was too tired to try to hide her better.

Suddenly he felt a growl in his stomach. His mouth tasted sour and his skin was wet with sweat. He stumbled away from the bodies and vomited behind a rock, retching and choking until all he could choke out was putrid gas.

He had killed two men. He hadn't wanted it, not really, but now they were dead because of him. The killings of the loups and wolves in the ravine, even what he had done to the huntress in her hut and the sorceress in her tower, didn't have him on these way touched. He had caused the deaths of the others, true, but now he had killed at least one of those men, ripping through his flesh with the point of a sword. Scylla's hooves had taken care of the rest, but Adam had been in the saddle when it happened, picking her up and urging her on. He hadn't even had to think about what he was doing; it had just become him, and it was that ability to do harm that frightened him more than anything else.

He wiped his mouth clean with snow, then climbed back onto Scylla and urged her forward, leaving the deed, if not the memory, of it. As he rode, thick flakes began to fall and settle on his clothing and on Scylla's head and back.

There was no wind. The snow fell straight and slowly, adding another layer to the drifts and covering streets, trees, bushes and corpses, the living and the dead as one under its veil. The bodies of the thieves were soon draped in white, and there they would have remained unmourned and undetected until spring came had not a wet snout trailed their scent and revealed their remains. The wolf let out a low howl and the forest came alive as the pack came down, tearing flesh and gnawing bone, the weak leaving the land to fight for scraps while the strong and swift filled their bellies. But there were now too many to be fed with such a meager meal.

The pack had grown in the thousands: white wolves from the far north, blending so perfectly into the winter landscape that only the dark of their eyes and the red of their jaws betrayed them; black wolves from the east, described by old women as spirits of witches and demons in the form of beasts; gray wolves from the woods to the west, larger and slower than the others, keeping to themselves and not trusting the others; and finally the Loups, who dressed like men and starved like wolves and wanted to rule like kings. They stayed away from the larger pack and watched from the edge of the forest as their primitive brethren snapped and fought for the dead bandits' guts. A woman approached them from the street. In her jaws she held a scrap of muslin,

Now she dropped it at her leader's feet and obediently stepped back. Lobo brought the rag to his nose and sniffed it. The scent of the dead's blood was strong and pungent, but he could still smell the boy underneath.

Lobo had last smelled the boy in the courtyard of the fortress, led there by his scouts. They had refused to climb the tower's stairs, alarmed by what they felt inside, but Lobo had ascended, more as a show of courage to his followers than out of a great desire to discover what lay above. With its enchantments broken, the tower was just an empty shell in the heart of an ancient fortress. All that remained of his former self was a stone chamber at the top, littered with the remains of dead men and a cloud of dust that had once been anything less than human. At its center was the raised stone dais on which lay the bodies of Raymond and Michael. Lobo recognized Raymond's scent and knew the boy's protector was now dead. He had been tempted to rend the bodies of the two knights, to desecrate their resting place, but he knew that was what an animal would do, and he was no animal anymore. He left the bodies as they were, and although he would never have admitted it to his lieutenants, he was happy to leave the chamber and the tower. There were things he didn't understand there, and they made him uncomfortable.

Now he stood with the bloody rag in his claws and felt a certain admiration for the boy he was chasing. How fast you've grown, thought Lobo.

Not so long ago you were a frightened child, and now you triumph where armed knights fail. You take people's lives and wipe your blade clean to make them ready for the next murder. It's almost a pity that you have to die.

Lobo was becoming more like a man and less like a wolf with each passing day, he told himself. He still had wiry hair on his body and his ears were pointed and his teeth sharp, but his snout was now little more than a swelling around his mouth and the bones of his face were reshaping to make him look more and more human leave less lupine. He seldom walked on all fours, except when momentarily overwhelmed by the need for speed in violet or the excitement of smelling the boy. That was one of the advantages of having so many available: while the horse's scent was strong, much stronger than that of the boy or the man, the recent snowfall had meant that they had frequently lost it, but through the use of numerous scouts, the trail was quickly found each time. They had pursued him into the village, and Lobo had been tempted to attack it with all the strength of his pack, but they had picked up the trail of the horse and the man moving east, and then they knew the two were gone were with the villagers. Some of his loups had still decided to attack the village, for the pack was hungry, but Lobo knew it would only be a waste of valuable time. It also suited him to keep the pack's appetites keen, for hunger would increase their ferocity when it came time to attack the king's castle. He remembered the man standing on the village's defenses, defying Lobo even as those around him ducked. Lobo had admired this gesture, just as he had admired many aspects of human nature. That was one of the reasons he was so comfortable with his own transformation,

The pack had lost some ground by the time the boy and man left the road, for Lobo had assumed they were going straight on to the king's castle, and half a day was wasted before he realized his mistake. Then it was only Adam's luck that caused the pack to miss him as he left the Keep of Thorns, for the wolves had been suspicious of the forest, unsure of the hidden things that lived in the trees, and had his deepest depths bypassed on their approach to the fortress. Once Lobo was sure no one was alive, he dispatched a dozen scouts to follow Adam's trail through the forest while the main pack set out on a longer but safer route east to the king's castle. When the pack was reunited with the scouts, only three survived. Seven had been killed by the creatures that lived in the trees.

"The crook is protecting the boy," one of Lobo's most trusted lieutenants had growled upon hearing the news. He, too, became more masculine, although his transformation was slower and less pronounced.

"He thinks he's found a new king," Lobo replied. "But we are here to put an end to the rule of the human kings. The boy will never claim the throne.”

He barked an order, and his loups began to rally the pack, growling and biting those who didn't react quickly enough. Her time was near. The castle was less than a day's march away, and once they reached it there would be enough meat for all, and the bloody reign of the new King Lobo would begin.

Lobo might have become a little more than animal and less than human, but deep, deep inside, he would always be a wolf.

Chapter 27

From the castle and the royal salute

Day passed, a poor lazy thing that almost thankfully vanished as night took its place. Adam's mood was low, and his back and legs ached from hours in the saddle. Even so, he'd managed to adjust the stirrups to fit his feet comfortably, and he'd learned how to hold the reins properly by watching Raymond, so now on Scylla he looked more relaxed than ever, even with the horse staying too big for him. The snow had dwindled to a few flurries and would soon be gone altogether. The land seemed to revel in its stillness and whiteness, knowing that the snow had made it more beautiful than before.

They came to a bend in the road. Ahead, the distant horizon was lit with a soft yellow glow, and Adam knew they were near the king's castle. He felt a sudden surge of energy and pushed Scylla on, even though they were both tired and hungry. Scylla broke into a trot, as if already scenting hay and fresh water and a warm barn to rest in, but almost as quickly Adam stopped her again and listened intently. He had heard something like the sound of the wind, only the night was still. Scylla seemed to feel it too, for she whinnied and pawed at the ground. Adam patted her flank and tried to calm her, although he felt himself tense.

"Hush, Scylla," he whispered.

The sound came again, clearer now. It was the howl of a wolf. It was impossible to tell how close it was, for the snow deadened all sounds, but it was close enough to be heard, and too close for Adam's liking. There was movement from the forest to his right, and he drew his sword, already imagining white teeth and a pink tongue and snapping jaws. Instead, the dishonest man showed up. He held a slender, curved blade in his hand. Adam leveled his own sword at the approaching figure and stared down at them, the point aimed at the dishonest man's throat.

"Put down your sword," said the dishonest man. "You have nothing to fear from me."

But Adam kept his sword right where it was. He was pleased to see that his arm wasn't shaking. The dishonest man, on the other hand, took no delight in Adam's courage.

"All right," he said. "As you wish. The wolves are coming. I don't know how long I can hold them off, but it should give you enough time to reach the castle. Stay on the road and don't be tempted by shortcuts."

More howls came, closer now.

"Why are you helping me?" Adam asked.

"I've been helping you all along," the dishonest man replied. "You were just too stubborn to understand. I shadowed your path and saved your life just so you could reach the castle. Now go to the king. He's expecting you. Go!"

And with that, the dishonest man sprang away from Adam, circumnavigating the edge of the forest, his blade making a whistling sound as it sliced??the air, already slaying wolves in his mind. Adam watched him until he was out of sight, and then he had no choice but to do as he was told, urging Scylla to the light in front of him. The dishonest watched him from a hollow at the foot of an old oak tree.

It had been so much more difficult than he expected, but the boy would soon be where he was supposed to be and the dishonest man would be one step closer to his reward.

"Tommie Porgie, Pudding and Pie," he sang. He licked his lips. "Tommie Pudding and Tommie Pie." He chuckled and then covered his mouth to stifle laughter. He wasn't alone. Harsh breathing came from nearby, and a cloud of breath formed in the darkness. The dishonest man curled into a ball, only his knife hand remained outstretched, half buried in the snow.

And as the wolf scout passed, he slit him from throat to tail, and his entrails steamed in the cold night air.

The road twisted and turned, narrowing as Adam neared his destination.

Sheer cliffs rose on either side of Violet, creating a gorge through which the pounding of Scylla's hooves echoed, for the snow had not fallen so thick here, the ground being protected by the walls above him. Then Adam was out of the ravine, and before him stretched out a valley with a river flowing through it. On its banks, about a mile away, stood a great castle with high, thick walls and many towers and buildings. Lights glowed in its windows and fires were kindled on its battlements. Adam could see mercenaries on guard. As he watched, the portcullis was raised and a group of twelve horsemen emerged. They crossed the drawbridge and drove quickly in Adam's direction. Adam was still afraid of the wolves and rode to meet them. as soon as they saw him

"We've been waiting for you," one of the men announced. He was older than the others and bore the scars of old battles on his face. Grey-brown hair curled under his helm, and under his dark cloak he wore a silver breastplate studded with bronze. "We are to take you to the safety of the royal apartments. Come on now."

Adam rode with them, surrounded on all sides by armed horsemen, so that he felt both protected and trapped. They reached the drawbridge without incident and entered the castle, the portcullis immediately lowering behind them.

Servants came and helped Adam dismount. They wrapped him in a cloak of soft black fur and gave him a hot, sweet drink in a silver cup to keep him warm. One of them took Scylla by the reins. Adam was about to stop him when the leader of the horsemen intervened.

“You will take good care of your horse and it will be housed close to where you sleep. I'm Duncan, Captain of the Kingsguard. Have no fear. You are safe with us, an honored guest of the king.”

He asked Adam to follow him. Adam did and stayed behind as they exited the outer courtyard and headed deeper into the castle. There were more people here than he had seen in his previous travels, and he was an interesting subject for all of them. Girls serving stopped and whispered about him behind their hands. Old men bowed slightly as he passed, and little boys looked at him with something close to awe.

"They've heard a lot about you," Duncan said.

"As?" asked Adam.

But all Duncan would say was that the king had his ways.

They walked down stone corridors, past spitting torches and luxuriously furnished chambers. Now the servants were replaced by courtiers, grave men with gold around their necks and papers in their hands. They stared at Adam with a mixture of expressions: happiness, concern, suspicion, even fear. Eventually Duncan and Adam reached two large doors carved with images of dragons and doves. Mercenaries stood guard on either side, each armed with a long pike. As Adam and Duncan approached, the mercenaries opened the doors for them, revealing a large room lined with marble columns and floors covered with beautifully woven rugs. Tapestries hung on the walls, giving the chamber a sense of warmth. They showed battles and weddings, funerals and coronations.

An old, old man sat on the throne. A gold crown set with red gems lay on his forehead, but it seemed to weigh heavily on him, and the skin was red and raw where the metal touched his forehead. His eyes were half closed and his breathing was very shallow.

Duncan dropped to one knee and bowed his head. He tugged on Adam's leg as a hint that he should do the same. Adam, of course, had never been a king before and wasn't sure how to behave, so he followed Duncan's lead and just peeked out from under his fringe of hair so he could see the old man.

"Your Majesty," Duncan said. "He is here."

The king stirred and opened his eyes a little more.

"Come closer," he said to Adam.

Adam wasn't sure whether to get up or stay on his knees and just shuffle on. He didn't want to offend anyone or get them into trouble.

"You may stand," said the king. "Come, let me see you."

Adam got up and approached the dais. The king waved a wrinkled finger at him, and Adam climbed the steps until he was facing the old man. With a great effort, the king leaned forward and grabbed Adam's shoulder, the weight of his entire torso seeming to rest on the boy. It hardly weighed anything and Adam was reminded of the drained shells of the knights in the castle of thorns.

"You've come a long way," said the king. "Few men could have achieved what you have accomplished."

Adam didn't know how to answer that. "Thank you" didn't feel right to him and he wasn't particularly proud of himself. Raymond and the woodcutter were both dead, and the bodies of the two thieves lay somewhere on the road, hidden in the snow. He wondered if the king knew about them too. The king seemed to know a lot about someone who was supposed to lose control of his kingdom.

In the end, Adam decided to say, "Glad to be here, Your Majesty," and he imagined the spirit of Raymond being struck by this act of diplomacy.

The king smiled and nodded as if there was no way anyone could be unhappy at being in his company.

"Your Majesty," Adam said. "I was told you could help me get home. I was told you had a book, and in it—”

The king raised a wrinkled hand, the back of which was a mess of purple veins and brown spots.

"All in time," he said. "All in good time. Now you must eat and rest. We'll talk again in the morning. Duncan will show you to your quarters. You won't be far from here."

This ended Adam's first audience with the king. He backed away from the high throne, thinking that it might be considered impolite to turn one's back on the king. Duncan gave him an appreciative nod, then Violet and bowed to the king. He led Adam to a small door to the right of the throne. From there a stairway led to a gallery overlooking the chamber, and Adam was ushered into one of the rooms off it. The room was huge, with a huge bed at one end, a table and six chairs in the middle, a fireplace at the other end, and three small windows overlooking the river and the road to the castle. There was a change of clothes on the bed and food on the table: hot chicken, potatoes, three vegetables, and fresh fruit for dessert. There was also a pitcher of water and what to Adam smelled like hot wine in a stone pot. A large tub had been placed in front of the fire, beneath which was a pan of glowing coals to heat the water.

"Eat what you want and then sleep," Duncan said. "I'll come to you in the morning. If you need anything, ring the bell next to your bed. The door will not be locked, but please do not leave this room. You don't know the castle and we don't want you to get lost."

Duncan bowed to him and then left. Adam took off his shoes. He ate most of the chicken and most of the fruit, and he tasted the hot wine but didn't particularly like it.

In a small cupboard next to his bed he found a wooden bench with a round hole that passed as a toilet. The stench was terrible, despite the bouquets of flowers and herbs hanging from hooks on the wall. Adam did what he had to do as quickly as possible, holding his breath the whole time, then stormed out, closing the door tightly behind him before breathing again. He stripped off his clothes and sword and washed in the tub, then changed into a stiff cotton nightgown. Before he climbed into bed, he went to the door and opened it quietly. The throne room below was now empty of guards, the king no longer present. However, a guard was walking down the gallery with his back to Adam, and Adam could see another guard on the opposite side. The thick walls blocked all sounds,

Adam closed the bedroom door and fell into bed exhausted. Within seconds he was fast asleep.

Adam woke up suddenly, and for a few moments he wasn't sure where he was. He thought he was back in his own bed and he looked around for his books and his games but they were nowhere to be seen. Then he quickly remembered everything. He sat up and saw that fresh wood had been stacked on the fire while he slept. The leftovers from his dinner and the plates he had used had all been taken away. Even the tub and hot pan had been removed without waking him from his slumber.

Adam had no idea how early or late it was, but he guessed it was the middle of the night. The castle felt asleep and when he looked out his window he saw a pale moon shrouded in wispy clouds. Something had woken him. He had dreamed of home, and in his dream he heard voices that didn't belong in the house. At first he had simply tried to fit them into his dream, just as his alarm clock would sometimes turn into a telephone ringing in his dream when he was very tired and sound asleep.

Now, as he sat on his plush bed, surrounded by pillows, the soft murmur of two men talking was clearer to him, and he was sure he'd heard his name. He pushed back the covers and crept to the door. He tried listening through the keyhole, but the voices were too muffled to hear clearly, so he opened the door as quietly as he could and peered out.

The guards who had been patrolling the gallery were gone. The voices came from the throne room below. Staying in the shadows, Adam hid behind a large silver urn filled with ferns and looked down at the two men. One of them was the king, but he wasn't sitting on his throne. He was sitting on the stone steps, wearing a crimson robe over a white and gold nightgown.

His head was completely bald on top and covered with other brown spots. Strands of white hair hung loose over his ears and the collar of his robe, and he shivered in the cold of the great hall.

The dishonest man sat on the king's throne, his legs crossed and his fingers crossed in front of him. He seemed dissatisfied with something the king had said, for he spat on the stone floor in disgust. Adam heard the saliva hiss and sizzle where it landed.

"It cannot be rushed," said the dishonest man. "A few more hours won't kill you."

"Nothing, it seems, will kill me," said the king. "You promised an end. I need to rest, sleep. I want to lie in my tomb and turn to dust. You promised me that I could finally die."

"He thinks the book will help him," said the dishonest man. "If he finds out it's of no value, he'll listen to reason, and then we'll both get our reward from him."

The king shifted his position and Adam saw that he had a book on his lap. It was bound in brown leather and looked very old and ragged. The king's fingers caressed the binding lovingly, and his face was a mask of sadness.

"The book has value for me," he said.

"Then you can take it with you to the grave," said the dishonest one, "because it will be of no use to anyone else. Until then, leave it where its presence can mock it.”

The king got up with difficulty and staggered down the steps. He went to a small niche in the wall and carefully placed the book on a gold cushion. Adam had not noticed it before because curtains had been drawn over it during his meeting with the king.

"Don't worry, Your Majesty," the dishonest man said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Our deal is almost done."

The king frowned. "It wasn't a deal," he said, "not for me and not for whoever you took to secure it."

The dishonest man jumped from the throne and landed inches from the king in a single leap. But the old man didn't crouch and didn't try to move away.

"You didn't close a deal you didn't want to close," said the dishonest man. "I gave you what you wanted and I made it clear what was expected of you in return."

"I was a child," said the king. "I was angry. I didn't understand the damage I was doing."

"And you think that excuses you? As a child you only saw things in black and white, good and bad, what brings you joy and what pains you. Now you see everything in shades of gray. Even concern for your own kingdom is upon you, so unwilling are you to decide what is right and wrong, or even admit that you can tell the difference. You knew what you agreed on the day we did our deal. Regret has clouded your memory, and now you're trying to blame me for your own weaknesses. Watch your tongue, old man, or I will be forced to remind you of the power I still wield over you.”

"What can you do to me that you have not already done?" asked the king. "All that's left is death, and you keep denying that to me."

The dishonest man leaned so close to the king that their noses touched.

“Remember, and remember well: there are easy deaths and there are hard deaths. I can make your death as peaceful as an afternoon nap, or as painful and protracted as your atrophied body and brittle bones will allow. Never forget that."

The dishonest turned and walked to the wall behind the throne. A tapestry depicting a unicorn hunt moved briefly in the torchlight, and then there was the king alone in his throne room. The old man went to the alcove, opened the book again and stared at what was on the pages for a while, then closed it again and exited through a door under the gallery. Adam was alone now. He waited for the guards to return, but they did not come. When five minutes had passed and all was quiet, he descended the stairs into the throne room and padded gently across the floor to where the book lay.

So this was the book that the woodcutter and Raymond had been talking about. This was the Book of Lost Things. But the dishonest man had declared it worthless, though the king seemed to value it more than his crown. Maybe the dishonest was wrong, Adam thought. Maybe he just didn't understand what was written on the pages.

Adam reached out and opened the book.

Chapter 28

From the Book of Lost Things

THE FIRST PAGE, to which Adam opened the book, was adorned with a child's drawing of a large house: there were trees and a garden and long windows. A smiling sun was shining in the sky and stick figures of a man, woman and little boy were holding hands by the front door. Adam turned another page and found a ticket for a show at a London theater. A child's hand had written underneath

"My first play!" Across the street was a postcard from a pier by the sea. It was very old and looked more brown and white than black and white. Adam turned more pages and saw flowers stuck on and a clump of dog hair ("Lucky, A Good Dog") and photographs and drawings and a piece of a woman's dress and a broken chain painted to look like gold but with a base metal shines through. There was a page from another book depicting a knight slaying a dragon and a poem about a cat and a mouse written by a boy's hand. The poem wasn't very good, but at least it rhymed.

Adam couldn't understand it. All these things belonged in his world, not in this one. They were marks and reminders of a life not unlike his own. He read on and came across a series of journal entries. Most of them were very brief, describing school days, trips to the sea, even the discovery of a particularly large and hairy spider in a garden web. The tone changed over time, the entries becoming longer and more detailed, but also bitter and angry. They spoke of the arrival of a little girl, a possible sister, into a family and a boy's anger at the attention given to the newcomer. There was regret and nostalgia for a time when it was just "me and my mommy and my daddy". Adam felt a kinship with the boy, but also a dislike for him. His anger at the girl and at his parents for bringing her into his world,

"I would do anything to get rid of her," reads one entry. "I would give away all my toys and every book I've ever owned. I would give up my life savings. I would sweep the floors every day for the rest of my life. I would sell my soul if it would just GO AWAY!!!!"

But the last entry was the shortest of them all. It simply said: “I have made my decision. I will do it."

Glued to the last page was a photo of a family of four standing in a photo studio next to a vase of flowers. There was a bald father and a pretty mother in a white lace dress. At her feet sat a boy in a sailor suit who scowled at the camera as if the photographer had just said something nasty to him. Beside him, Adam could just make out the hem of a dress and a pair of small black shoes, but the rest of the girl's image had been scratched away.

Adam turned back to the very first page of the book and saw what was written there. It read:

Joseph Redford. His book.

Adam closed the book with a bang and hastily stepped away from it. Joseph Redford: Violet's great-uncle who disappeared with his little adopted sister and was never seen again. This was Joseph's book, a remnant of his life.

He remembered the old king and the loving way he had touched the book.

"The book has value for me."

Joseph was the king. He had made a bargain with the dishonest man and in return had become ruler of this country. He might even have gone through the same portal that Adam came through. But what was the arrangement and what had happened to the little girl? Whatever deal he had made with the dishonest man had cost him dearly in the end. The old king asking to die was living proof of that.

A noise came from above. Adam backed against the wall as the figure of a guard appeared on the gallery, and resumed his position now that the chamber was empty again. There was no way Adam could return to his room unseen. He looked around and tried to find another way out. He could take the door the king had used, but that would almost certainly mean he would be faced with guards. There was also the tapestry on the wall behind the throne.

Somehow the dishonest man had found a way out there, and Adam doubted there would be guards where the dishonest man had gone. Adam was curious too. For the first time he felt he knew more than the dishonest man or the king thought they knew. It was time to use this knowledge.

He walked silently to the tapestry and lifted it off the wall again. Behind it was a door. Adam pushed the doorknob and it opened silently. Beyond was a low-ceilinged passage lit by candles set in niches in the stonework. The roof of the passage was so low that it almost touched Adam's hair as he entered. He closed the door behind him and followed the passage down, down, deep into the cold, dark places that lay beneath the castle. He passed disused dungeons, some still strewn with bones, and a chamber filled with instruments of pain and torture: racks on which prisoners were stretched until they screamed; knurled screws, with which they break their bones; spikes and spears and blades to pierce the flesh; and in a far corner an iron maiden, shaped like the coffins of mummies Adam had seen in museums, but with nails in the lid so that whoever was placed in them would face an agonizing death. This made Adam queasy and he walked through the chamber as fast as he could.

Finally he came into a huge room dominated by a large hourglass. Each bulb of the jar was as tall as a house, but the top bulb was almost empty. The wood and glass the hourglass was made of looked very old. Time for anyone or anything passed, and now it was almost over.

Next to the hourglass room was a small chamber furnished with a plain bed, a stained mattress and an old blanket on it. Against the wall opposite the bed was a row of bladed weapons, daggers, swords and knives, all arranged in descending order of length. Against another wall was a shelf covered with glasses of various shapes and sizes. One of them seemed to glow faintly.

Adam's nose wrinkled at an unpleasant nearby smell. He turned to find the source and nearly bumped his head against a garland of wolf snouts hanging from the ceiling by a rope, twenty or thirty in all, some still wet with blood.

"Who are you?" said a voice, and Adam's heart almost stopped in shock at hearing it. He tried to find the source of the noise, but no one was there.

"Does he know you're here?" said the voice again. It was a girl's voice.

"I can't see you," Adam said.

"But I can see you."

"Where are you?"

"I'm over here, on the shelf."

Adam followed the sound of the voice to the shelf of jars. There, in a green jar near the rim, he saw a tiny little girl. Her hair was long and blond and her eyes were blue. She shone in a pale light and wore a plain white nightgown.

There was a hole in the dress on her left breast with a large chocolate colored stain surrounding it.

"You shouldn't be here," the little girl said. "If he finds you, he'll hurt you just like he hurt me."

"What did he do to you?" asked Adam.

But the little girl just shook her head and pressed her lips together tightly as if not wanting to cry.

"What's your name?" Adam asked, trying to change the subject.

"My name is Emma," said the little girl.

Emma.

"I'm Adam. How can I get you out of there?”

"You can't," said the girl. "See, I'm dead."

Adam leaned a little closer to the glass. He could see the girl's small hands touching the glass, but they left no fingerprints on it. Her face was white and her lips purple, and dark circles encircled her eyes. The hole in her nightgown was more visible now, and Adam thought the stains surrounding it might be dried blood.

"How long have you been here?" he said.

"I stopped counting the years," she said. “I was very young when I came here.

When I arrived there was still a little boy in this room. I dream about him sometimes. He was like me now, but he was very frail. He disappeared when I was brought into this room and I never saw him again. However, I have become weak. I'm afraid. I'm afraid what happened to him will happen to me. I will disappear and then no one will ever know what became of me.”

She began to cry, but no tears fell because the dead can no longer cry or bleed.

Adam placed his pinky on the glass, right where the girl's hand touched it from the inside, leaving only the glass separating them.

"Anyone else know you're here?" Adam asked.

She nodded. “My brother comes sometimes, but he is very old now. Well, I call him my brother, but he never was, not really. I just wanted it to be him. He tells me he's sorry. i believe him I think he's sorry."

Suddenly everything started to make horrible sense for Adam.

"Joseph brought you here and handed you over to the dishonest man," he said. "That was the deal he did."

He sat down hard on the cold, uncomfortable bed.

"He was jealous of you," he continued, lowering his voice now, speaking as much to himself as to the girl in the jar, "and the dishonest man offered him a way to get rid of you. Joseph became king, and his predecessor, the old queen, was allowed to die. Maybe she had made a similar deal with the dishonest man many years ago and the boy you saw in the jar when you came was her brother or cousin or a little boy next door who teased her so much that she dreamed of getting rid of him.”

And the dishonest man heard their dreams, for there he wandered.

His place was the land of fantasy, the world where stories began. The stories always looked for a way to be told, to be brought to life through books and reading. This is how they passed from their world into ours.

But with them came the dishonest, roaming between his world and ours, looking for stories of his own to make up, chasing children who had bad dreams, who were jealous, angry, and proud. And he made them kings and queens and cursed them with a kind of power, though the real power was always in his hands. And in return, they betrayed the objects of their jealousy to him, and he took them to his hiding place deep under the castle...

Adam got up and returned to the girl in the jar.

"I know it's hard for you, but you have to tell me what happened to you when you came here. It is very important. Please try."

Emma made a face and shook her head. "No," she whispered. "It hurt. I don't want to remember it."

"You have to," Adam said, and there was a new strength in his voice. It sounded deeper, as if the man he was destined to become had shown himself just before his time. "If you don't want it to happen again, you have to tell me what he did."

Emma was shaking. Her lips were pressed paper thin and her small fists were clenched so tight the bones threatened to break through her skin. Finally, she let out a groan of sadness and anger, remembering the pain, and the words poured out of her.

"We came through the sunken garden," she began. “Joseph was always so mean to me. He teased me when he spoke to me at all. He would pinch me and pull my hair. He took me to the forest and tried to lose me there until I started crying and he had to come back and get me in case his parents heard me. He told me that if I ever said anything to them, he would betray me to a stranger.

He said they wouldn't believe me anyway because he was their real child and I wasn't. I was just a little girl they felt sorry for and if I disappeared they wouldn't be sad for long.

"But sometimes he could be so kind and sweet, like he forgot he was supposed to hate me and the real Joseph shined through instead. Maybe that's why I followed him into the garden that evening because he'd been so nice to me that day. He had bought me candy with his own money and shared his cake with me after I dropped mine on the floor. He woke me up in the night and told me that he wanted to show me something, something special and secret. Everyone else was asleep and we crept into the sunken garden, my hand in Joseph's. He showed me a hollow spot. i was scared I didn't want to go in. But Joseph said I would see a strange land, a fabulous land, if I did. He went ahead and I followed him. At first I couldn't see anything. There was only darkness and spiders. Then I saw trees and flowers, and smelled apple blossom and pine. Joseph stood in a clearing, danced around in a circle, laughed and called for me to come with him.

"So I did."

She fell silent for a moment. Adam waited for her to continue.

“There was a man waiting: the dishonest man. He was sitting on a rock. He stared at me and licked his lips, then spoke to Joseph.

'Tell me,' he said.

'Her name is Emma,' said Joseph.

"'Emma,' said the dishonest man, as if trying my name to see if he liked the taste. "Welcome Emma."

"And then he jumped off the rock and took me in his arms, and he started spinning in circles, just like Josef had done, but spinning so hard that he dug a hole in the ground, and me down with it, through roots and dirt, past worms and bugs, into the tunnels that run beneath this world. He carried me for miles though I cried and cried until finally we got into these rooms.

"And then-"

she stopped.

"And then?" prompted Adam.

"He ate my heart," she whispered.

Adam felt himself go pale. He was so nauseous he thought he might faint.

"He stuck his hand inside me, yanked at me with his nails, then pulled it out and ate it in front of me," she said. "And it hurt, it hurt so bad. I was in so much pain that I left my own body to escape. I could see myself dying on the floor and being lifted up and there were lights and voices. Then glass closed around me and I got trapped in that glass and put on this shelf and I've been here ever since. The next time I saw Joseph he had a crown on his head and was calling himself king, but he didn't look happy. He looked scared and miserable and has remained so ever since. As for me, I never sleep because I'm never tired. I never eat because I'm never hungry. I never drink because I never feel thirsty. I just stay here with no way of telling how many days or years have passed unless Joseph comes and I see the ravages of time on his face. But most of the time he comes. He also looks older now. He is sick. As I fade, he grows weaker. I hear him talking in his sleep. He is now looking for another, someone to take Joseph's place and someone to take mine.”

Once again Adam saw that hourglass in the room beyond, the top half of which was almost grainless. Was he counting the days, the minutes, the hours until the end of the dishonest man's life? If he were allowed to have another child, would the hourglass be turned upside down so the great count of his life could begin again? How many times had the glass been turned? There were many glasses on the shelf, most of them covered in dust and mold. Had everyone at some point carried the spirit of a lost child?

A bargain: By naming the kid after him, you've doomed yourself. You became a ruler without power, always haunted by the betrayal of someone smaller and weaker than yourself, a brother, a sister, a friend you should have protected, someone who trusted you to stand up for them who looked up to you and who would have been there for you in turn as the years passed and childhood turned into adulthood. And once you made the deal, there was no going back, because who could go back to their old life knowing what a horrible deed they had done?

"You're coming with me," Adam said. "I won't leave you here alone for a minute longer."

He lifted the glass from the shelf. There was a cork at the top, but Adam couldn't get it off no matter how hard he tried. His face flushed from the effort, but it was all for naught. He looked around and found an old sack in a corner.

"I'll take you in here," he said, "just in case anyone sees us."

"It's okay," Emma said. "I'm not afraid."

Adam carefully placed the jug in the sack and then slung the sack over his shoulder. Just as he was about to leave, he noticed something in the corner of the room. It was his pajamas, dressing gown, and a single slipper, the clothes the woodcutter had discarded before they left to see the king. It seemed so long ago now, but here were signs of the life he had left behind. He didn't like thinking about her down here in the dishonest man's den. He gathered them up, went to the door and listened carefully. There was no sound. Adam took a deep breath to calm himself, then started to run.

Chapter 29

Of the dishonest man's hidden kingdom and the treasures he kept there

The dishonest man's hiding place was much larger and much deeper than Adam could have known. It ran well below the castle, and there were rooms containing things far more horrific than a collection of rusty torture devices or the ghost of a dead girl trapped in a jar. This was the heart of the dishonest man's world, the place where all things were born and all things died.

He was there when the first humans came into the world and broke into existence with them. In a way they gave him life and purpose, and in return he gave them stories to tell, for the dishonest man remembered every story. He even had a story of his own, although he had significantly altered its details before it could be told. In his story, the dishonest man's name had to be guessed, but that was his little joke. In truth, the dishonest man had no name. Others could call him whatever they liked, but he was such an ancient being that the names given to him by humans meant nothing to him: Trickster; the dishonest man; Crumple-

Oh, but what was that called again? Forget it, forget it...

Only children's names mattered to him, for there was a truth in the story the dishonest man had told the world about himself: names had power when used properly, and the dishonest man had learned how to um to use them really well. A huge room in his cave was evidence of everything the dishonest man knew: it was completely filled with small skulls, each bearing the name of a prodigal child, for the dishonest man had made many deals for children's lives. He could remember the faces and voices of everyone, and sometimes, as he stood among their remains, he conjured up the memory of them so that the room was filled with their shadows, a chorus of lost boys and girls,

The dishonest man had treasure upon treasure, relics of tales told and tales yet to be told. A long crypt was used to store a series of thick glass cases, and in each case a body was hung in yellowish liquid to keep it from decomposing.

Come look here Look closely at this suitcase, so close that your breath creates a small cloud of moisture on the glass and you can stare into the milky eyes of the fat, bald man inside. It is as if he is breathing himself, although he has not breathed or exhaled for a very long time. See how his skin has cracked and burned? See how his mouth and throat, stomach and lungs are swollen and bloated? Do you want to know his story because it is one of the dishonest man's favorite stories. It's a bad story, a very bad story...

You see, the fat man's name was Manius and he was very greedy. He owned so much land that a bird could take off from its first field and fly for a day and night without reaching the limits of Manius' holdings. He charged high rents from those who tilled his fields and lived in his villages. Just stepping onto his land meant a charge, and in this way he became very wealthy, but he never had enough and was always looking for new ways to increase his wealth. If he could have hired a bee to collect pollen from a flower, or a tree to take root in his soil, he would have.

One day, as Manius was walking through the largest of his orchards, he saw a commotion in the ground and out came the dishonest, busy expanding his network of tunnels underground. Manius challenged him, for he saw that the dishonest man's clothes, though soiled with the earth, had gold buttons and gold ornaments, and the dagger at his belt shone with rubies and diamonds.

"This is my country," he said. "Everything above and everything below is mine, and you must pay me the right to go below."

The dishonest rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "That seems only fair," he said.

"I'll pay you a reasonable price."

Manius smiled and said, "I have prepared a banquet for myself tonight. We'll weigh all the food on the table before I eat and what's left when I'm done. You will pay me in gold the weight of everything I have eaten."

"A belly full of gold," said the dishonest man. "It is agreed. I will come to you tonight and give you all you can eat in gold."

They shook hands and parted. That night the dishonest man sat and watched as Manius ate and ate. He ate two whole turkeys and a full ham, bowl after bowl of potatoes and vegetables, whole soup tureens, large plates of fruit and cake and cream, and glass after glass of the finest wines. The dishonest man carefully weighed everything before the meal began and weighed the meager leftovers when the meal was over. The difference was many, many pounds, or enough gold to buy a thousand fields.

Manius belched. He felt very tired, so tired he could barely keep his eyes open.

"Now where's my gold?" he asked, but the dishonest man went blurry and the room spun, and before he could hear the answer he was asleep.

When he woke up, he was chained to a wooden chair in a dark dungeon. His mouth was held open in a metal vise, and a bubbling cauldron hung over his head.

The dishonest man appeared beside him. "I stand by my word," he said.

"Prepare to receive your belly full of gold."

The cauldron tilted and molten gold spilled into Manius' mouth and spilled down his throat, scalding his flesh and searing his bones. The pain was unimaginable, but he did not die, not immediately, for the dishonest man had ways of delaying death in order to perpetuate his torment. The dishonest man poured out a little gold, then let it cool before pouring in some more, and so he continued until he had filled Manius so full of gold that it was bubbling behind his molars. Of course, by then Manius was already very dead, for even the dishonest could not keep him alive forever. Finally Manius took his place in the room full of showcases and the dishonest one sometimes looked at him and he smiled,

In the dishonest man's den there were many such stories: a thousand rooms, and a thousand stories for each room. One chamber housed a collection of telepathic spiders, very ancient, very wise, and very, very large, each more than four feet across, with fangs so venomous that a single drop of their venom, placed in a well, once killed a whole one had village. The dishonest man often used them to hunt down those who strayed into his tunnels, and when the intruders were found, the spiders would wrap them in silk and carry them back to their cobweb-covered room, and there they very slowly died. while the spiders fed on them, they emptied them drop by drop.

In one of the dressing rooms, a woman sat in front of a blank wall, endlessly combing her long, silver hair. Sometimes the dishonest man took those who had upset him to visit the woman, and when she turned to look at her, they saw themselves reflected in her eyes, for her eyes were made of mirror glass.

And in those eyes they would be allowed to witness the moment of their death, so they would know exactly when and how they would die. You might think that such knowledge wouldn't be so terrible, and you would be wrong. We are not destined to know when or how we will die (for we all secretly hope to be immortal). Those given this knowledge found that they could not sleep or eat or enjoy any of the pleasures that life had to offer them, so tormented were they by what they had seen. Their life became a kind of living death, without joy, and all they were left with was fear and sadness, so that when the end came, they were almost grateful for it.

One bedroom contained a naked woman and a naked man, and the dishonest man brought them children (not the special ones that gave life to him, but the others he stole from the villages or who strayed from the path and got lost in the forest), and the husband and wife whispered things to them in the darkness of their room, telling them things children shouldn't know, dark tales of what adults did together in the depths of the night while their sons and daughters slept. This is how the children died inside.

Forced into adulthood before they were ready, their innocence was stripped from them and their minds collapsed under the weight of toxic thoughts.

Many grew up to be evil men and women, and so corruption spread.

A small, bright room was decorated only with a mirror, plain and unadorned.

The dishonest man would steal husbands or wives from their marital beds, make their spouses sleep, and force the captives to sit in front of the mirror, and the mirror would reveal all the bad secrets their spouses kept from them: all the sins they had committed and all the sins they wanted to commit; all the treason they already have on their conscience and all the treason they might yet commit. Then the prisoners would be returned to their beds, and when they woke up they would not remember the chamber or the mirror or their kidnapping by the dishonest man. They only remembered knowing that those they loved and thought loved them too were not what they thought they were

There was a hall entirely filled with basins of what appeared to be clear water, and each basin represented a different part of the kingdom, so little happened in the land beyond the castle that the dishonest man was unaware of. By being immersed in a pool, the dishonest could materialize in the place reflected in it. The air rippled and shimmered, and suddenly an arm appeared, then a leg, and finally the face and hunched back of the dishonest man who was instantaneously transported from the depths beneath the castle into a distant room or field. The dishonest man's favorite torture was to take men or women, preferably those with large families, and hang them by chains in the pool room. Then as they watched he hunted down and killed their families in front of them, one by one. After each murder, he would return to the room and listen to the pleas of his prisoners, but no matter how loud they screamed and cried, begging his mercy, he would not spare a single life. Finally, when all were dead, he would take the abandoned man or woman to his deepest, darkest dungeon, and there he would drive them mad with loneliness and grief.

Little evils, great evils, all were butter on the dishonest man's bread. Through his network of tunnels and pool room, he knew more about his world than anyone else, and that knowledge gave him the power he needed to rule the kingdom in secret. And all the time he haunted the shadows of another world, our world, and he made kings and queens of boys and girls and bound them to himself, destroying their minds and forcing them to betray children who should have protected them . To those who threatened to rebel against him, he promised that he would one day free them and the children they had sacrificed to him from their businesses, and claimed that he could bring the fragile figures in the jars back to life awaken if he wanted (e.g. most, like Joseph Redford,

But there were some things that were beyond the dishonest man's control.

Bringing strangers into the country changed it. They carried their fears with them, their dreams and nightmares, and the country made them come true. That's how the Loups came about. They were Joseph's greatest fear: from an early age he had hated stories of wolves and animals that walked and talked like humans. When the dishonest man finally transported him to the kingdom, this fear followed and the wolves began to transform. They alone did not fear the dishonest man, as if some of Joseph's secret hatred of the dishonest man had taken shape in them. Now they posed the greatest threat to the kingdom, although the dishonest man still hoped to use them.

The boy named Adam was different from the others the dishonest man had tried. He had helped destroy the beast and the woman who dwelt in the Keep of Thorns. Adam wasn't aware of it, but in a way it was his fears and he had brought aspects of it into being. What had surprised the dishonest man was the way the boy had treated them. His anger and sadness had enabled him to do what older men could not. The boy was strong, strong enough to overcome his fears. He also began to master his hatred and jealousy. Such a boy, if allowed to be controlled, would make a great king.

But the dishonest man was running out of time. He needed another child's life to dry up. If he ate Tommie's heart, the infant's lifespan would become that of the dishonest man. If Tommie was destined to live to be a hundred years old, then the dishonest man would be granted those hundred years instead, and Tommie's spirit would remain trapped in one of the dishonest man's glasses, and he would absorb its light while he was in his hard slept, narrow bed. It was enough for the boy Adam to say the child's name aloud, indulge his hatred and curse them both.

The dishonest man had less than a day of his life left in his hourglass. He needed Adam to betray his half brother before midnight. Now, as he sat in his pond chamber, he saw figures appearing on the hills surrounding the castle, and for the first time in many decades he felt genuine fear even as he put the final touches to his last, desperate plan.

For the wolves were gathering, and soon they would attack the castle.

While the dishonest man was distracted by the approaching army, Adam made his way back through the maze of tunnels to the throne room with Emma in her jug. As they approached the door hidden by the tapestry, Adam heard men screaming, the running of feet, and the clash of weapons and armor. He wondered if his disappearance was the reason for the activity and tried to find the best way to explain his absence. Peering from behind the tapestry, he saw Duncan standing nearby as he ordered men to the battlements and told others to see that all approaches to the castle were secure. With his back to the captain, Adam slipped out and ran as fast as he could for the stairs leading up to the gallery. If anyone saw him, they ignored him, and he knew then that he was not the cause of all these troubles. Once back in his bedroom, he closed the door and took the jar of Emma's spirit out of his sack. Her light seemed to have dimmed on the short walk from the dishonest man's den to the castle itself, and she sat slumped at the base of the glass, her face even paler than before.

"What is wrong?" asked Adam.

Emma held up her right hand and Adam saw that it had become almost transparent.

"I feel weak," Emma said. "And I'm changing. I seem to be getting weaker."

Adam didn't know what to say to comfort her. He tried to find a hiding place for her, finally settling on a shady corner of a huge closet populated only by the husks of dead insects caught in an ancient web.

But Emma called out to him when he was about to put the jug in the hiding place he had chosen. "No," she said. "Please not there. I've been trapped alone in the dark for so many years and I don't think I'll be in this world much longer.

Stand me on the windowsill so I can look out and see trees and people. I will be silent and no one will think to look for me there.”

So Adam opened one of the windows and saw that there was a small wrought iron balcony outside. It was rusted in places and rattled when he touched it, but it would surely support the vessel's weight. He put it carefully in a corner and Emma stepped forward and leaned against the glass.

For the first time since they had met, she smiled. "Oh," she said, "it's wonderful.

Look at the river and the trees behind it and all those people. Thank you Adam

That's all I wanted to see."

But Adam wasn't listening to her, for as she spoke Violet howled from the hills above and he saw black and white and gray figures moving across the landscape, thousands and thousands of them. The wolves had a certain discipline and single-mindedness, almost like divisions in an army preparing for battle. On the highest point overlooking the castle, he saw clothed figures standing on their hind legs while more wolves ran back and forth, carrying messages between the loups and the beasts on the front line.

"What's up?" asked Emma.

"The wolves have come," Adam said. "They want to kill the king and take over his kingdom."

"Kill Joseph?" said Emma,??and there was such terror in her voice that Adam looked away from the wolves and returned his attention to the small, fading form of the girl.

"Why are you so worried about him after everything he's done to you?" he asked.

"He betrayed you and allowed the dishonest man to feed on you and then left you to rot in a jar in a dungeon. How can you feel anything but hate for him?”

Emma shook her head and for a moment she looked much older than before. She might be a girl in shape, but she had been around much longer than her looks suggested, and in that dark place she had learned wisdom, tolerance, and forgiveness.

"He's my brother," she explained. "I love him no matter what he did to me. He was young and angry and foolish when he made his deal, and if he could turn back the clock and undo it all, he would. I don't want to see him hurt. And what will happen to all those people below when the wolves succeed and their rule replaces the rule of men and women? They will tear apart all living things within these walls, and what little is good here will cease to be.”

As he listened to her, Adam again wondered how Joseph could betray this girl. He must have been so angry and so sad, and that anger and sadness consumed him.

Adam watched as the wolves gathered, all with a single goal: to take the castle and kill the king and all who stood by him. But the walls were thick and strong, and the gates were tightly shut against them. There were guards at the stinking holes where the refuse left the castle, and armed men stood on every roof and window. The wolves greatly outnumbered them, but they were out and Adam saw no way for them to gain entry. As long as this situation lasted, the wolves could howl as much as they wanted, and the loups could send and receive as many messages as they wanted. It wouldn't make any difference.

The castle would remain impregnable.

Chapter 30

Of the dishonest man's betrayal

DEEP BELOW THE GROUND, the dishonest man watched the sands of his life trickle away bit by bit. He was getting weaker and weaker. His system collapsed. His teeth came loose in his mouth and there were weeping sores on his lips. Blood dripped from his bent fingernails and his eyes were yellow and watering. His skin was dry and scaly; When he scratched it, long, deep gashes opened up, exposing the underlying muscles and tendons. His joints ached and his hair fell off his head in clumps. He was dying, but he didn't panic. There had been times in his long, horrible life when he had been even closer to death than it seemed like he picked the wrong kid and there would be no betrayal and no new king or queen to manipulate a puppet on the throne. But at the end,

The dishonest man believed that whatever evil was in people was there from the moment they were conceived and that it was just a matter of discovering its nature in a child. Young Adam was as angry and hurt as any child the dishonest man had encountered, yet he resisted his advances. It was time for one last gamble. Despite all that he had achieved and despite all the bravery he had shown, the boy was still just a boy. He was far from home, away from his father and the familiar things in his life. Somewhere inside he was scared and alone. If the dishonest man could make that fear unbearable, Adam would name the child in his house and the dishonest man would live on, and in time the search for Adam's replacement would begin. Fear was the key. The dishonest man had learned that in the face of death most men would do anything to stay alive. They would cry, beg, kill, or betray others to save their own skins. If he could scare Adam for his life he would give the dishonest what he wanted.

So this strange, bent creature, as old as living memory, left its lair of mirrored pools and hourglasses, of spiders and death-filled eyes, and disappeared into the great network of tunnels that ran like a honeycomb beneath its realm. He passed under the castle buildings, under the walls and into the countryside beyond.

And when he heard the wolves howling overhead, he knew he had achieved his goal.

Adam had been reluctant to leave Emma,??she seemed so weak. He was afraid that if he turned his back on her, she might disappear entirely. In return, having been alone in the dark for so long, she was grateful for his company. She spoke to him about the long decades he had spent with the dishonest man, the horrible things he had done and the horrific torture and punishment he had inflicted on those who got in his way. Adam told her about his dead mother and about the house he now shared with Violet and Tommie, the same house Emma had briefly lived in after her own parents died. The little girl's aura seemed to brighten at the mention of her former home, and she questioned Adam about the house and village nearby and the changes that had occurred since she left it. He told her about the war and the great army that was marching through Europe

"So you left one war behind, only to find yourself in the middle of another," she said.

Adam looked down at the columns of wolves moving purposefully across the valley and hills. Their numbers seemed to swell with each passing minute, ranks of black and gray forming to surround the castle. Like Fletcher before him, Adam was most concerned with their order and discipline. It was a fragile thing, he supposed: without the loups, the wolf packs would scatter, fight, and find their way back to their own territories, but for now the loups had corrupted the wolves' nature just as their own nature had been corrupted. They thought they were taller and more advanced than their four-legged brothers and sisters, but in reality they were much worse.

They were impure, mutations that were neither human nor animal. Adam wondered how the Loups were thinking as the two sides of their nature constantly fought for supremacy. There had been a kind of madness in Lobo's eyes, Adam was sure of that.

"Joseph will not surrender to them," Emma said. "You can't gain entry to the castle. They should just dissolve, but they won't. What are you waiting for?"

"An opportunity," Adam said. "Maybe Lobo and his loups have a plan, or maybe they're just hoping the king makes a mistake, but they can't turn back now. They will never raise such an army again, and they will not be allowed to survive if they fail.”

The door of Adam's bedroom opened and Duncan, the captain of the watch, entered. Adam immediately closed the window in case the Captain might spot Emma on the balcony.

"The king wants to see you," he said.

Adam nods. Although safe within the castle walls and surrounded by armed men, he first removed his sword and belt from a bedpost and then placed the belt around his waist. This had become routine for him, and now he didn't feel properly dressed without the sword at his side.

After his foray into the dishonest man's hideout, he was particularly aware of his need. Down there in the Deceiver's pain and torture chambers, he had realized how vulnerable he was without a weapon. Adam also knew that the dishonest man must have noticed that Emma was missing and would surely come looking for her when he did. It wouldn't take him long to find out that Adam was somehow involved, and the boy didn't want to face the dishonest man's wrath without sword in hand.

The captain did not object to the sword. In fact, he told Adam to bring all his stuff. "You will not return to this room," he said.

It was all Adam could do not to look at the window Emma was hiding behind.

"Why?" he asked.

"The king must tell you that," Duncan said. "We came to you earlier, but you were nowhere to be found."

"I went for a walk," Adam said.

"You were told to stay here."

"I heard the wolves and I wanted to find out what's going on. But everyone seemed to be rushing around, so I came back here.”

"You need not fear them," said the captain. "Those walls have never been breached, and no pack of beasts will do what an army of men could not.

Come on now. The king is waiting.”

Adam packed his bag, added the clothes he'd found in the dishonest man's room, and followed the captain down to the throne room, taking one last look back at the window. Through the glass he thought he could still see Emma's light shining faintly.

In the woods behind the wolves' lines, a flurry of snow shot up in the air, followed by tufts of dirt and grass. A hole appeared and the dishonest man emerged from it. He had one of his curved blades ready, for this was dangerous business. There was no way he could make a deal with the wolves. Their leaders, the Loups, were aware of the power of dishonesty and just as little trusted them as he did them. He had also been responsible for the deaths of too many of them to forgive him easily, or even let him live long enough to plead for his life if one of the packs held him captive. He walked silently until he saw a line of figures, all dressed in army uniforms carved from the corpses of dead mercenaries. Some smoked pipes while standing over a map of the castle drawn in the snow in front of them, trying to figure out a way to gain entry. Scouts had already been sent to approach the castle walls to see if there were any cracks or crevices, any unguarded holes or portals that might be of use.

The gray wolves had been used as bait and nearly died as soon as they came within range of the defenders' arrows. The white wolves were harder to see, and although some of them had also died, some were able to get close enough to the walls to make a close examination, sniffing and digging to find a way through. Those who survived to volunteer confirmed that the castle was as impregnable as it appeared.

The dishonest was close enough to hear the loups' voices and smell the stink of their fur. Stupid, vain creatures, he thought. You may dress like men and adopt their manners and airs, but you will always stink like beasts and will always be animals pretending to be what you are not. The dishonest man hated her and hated Joseph for bringing her into existence through the power of his imagination and creating his own version of the story of the little girl in the red hooded robe to give birth to her. The dishonest man had watched with concern as the wolves began to transform: slowly at first, their growls and growls sometimes forming what could have been words, and their front paws lifted in the air as they tried to walk like men. It had seemed almost amusing at first, but then their faces had changed and their intelligence, already quick and alert, had sharpened. He had tried to get Joseph to order a slaughter of wolves across the land, but the king had acted too late. The first group of mercenaries he sent to kill were themselves slaughtered, and the villagers were too scared of this new threat to do more than build higher walls around their settlements and close their doors and windows at night to close. Now the time had come: an army of wolves, led by half-human, half-beast creatures determined to conquer the kingdom for themselves. and the villagers were too afraid of this new threat to do more, than to build higher walls around their settlements and lock their doors and windows at night. Now the time had come: an army of wolves, led by half-human, half-beast creatures determined to conquer the kingdom for themselves. and the villagers were too scared of this new threat to do more than build higher walls around their settlements and lock their doors and windows at night. Now the time had come: an army of wolves, led by half-human, half-beast creatures determined to conquer the kingdom for themselves. conquer the kingdom for himself. and the villagers were too scared of this new threat to do more than build higher walls around their settlements and lock their doors and windows at night. Now the time had come: an army of wolves, led by half-human, half-beast creatures determined to conquer the kingdom for themselves. conquer the kingdom for himself. and the villagers were too scared of this new threat to do more than build higher walls around their settlements and lock their doors and windows at night. Now the time had come: an army of wolves, led by half-human, half-beast creatures determined to conquer the kingdom for themselves.

"Come on then," the dishonest whispered to himself. "If you want the king, take him. I'm done with him."

The dishonest retreated and circled the generals until he came to a she-wolf acting as a lookout. He made sure to stay downwind of her, judging his approach by the direction the lighter snowflakes were blowing off the ground. He was almost there when she registered his presence, but her fate was sealed. The dishonest lunged, his blade already beginning its descent. As soon as he landed on the wolf, the knife sliced??through her fur and deep into the flesh beneath, the dishonest man's long fingers curled around her snout, locking it tight so she couldn't cry out, not yet.

He could of course have killed her and taken her snout for his collection, but he didn't. Instead, he cut her so deep that she collapsed to the ground and the snow around her turned red with her blood. He released his grip on her snout and the wolf began howling and howling, alerting the rest of the pack to her distress. That was the dangerous part, the dishonest knew, even more risky than fighting off the big wolf in the first place. He wanted them to see him but couldn't get close enough to catch him. Suddenly, four massive grays appeared on the crest of a hill and howled a warning to the rest. Behind them came one of the despised Loups, dressed in all the military finery he could muster:

It was Lobo, the beast who would become king, the most hated and feared of the Loups. The dishonest man paused, lured by the proximity of his greatest enemy.

Though very old, and weakened by the dying of Emma's light and the slow slipping away of the grains of his life, the dishonest man was still swift and strong. Confident that he could kill the four Grays, he left Lobo with only a captured sword to defend himself with. If the dishonest man killed Lobo, the wolves would scatter, for he held their army together with the strength of his will. Even the other Loups were not as advanced as he was, and they managed to be hunted down in time by the new king's forces.

The new king! The memory of what he had come for brought the dishonest man to his senses, even as more wolves and loups appeared from behind Lobo and a patrol of whites began to creep in from the south. All was silent for a moment as the wolves watched their most despised enemy standing over the dying she-wolf. Then, with a shout of triumph, the dishonest waved his bloodied blade in the air and ran.

Immediately the wolves followed, swarming through the trees, their eyes bright with the thrill of the chase. A white wolf, slimmer and faster than the others, broke away from the pack and tried to cut off the dishonest man's escape. The ground sloped down to where the dishonest ran, so the wolf was about ten feet above him when his hind legs curled and he launched himself into the air, baring his fangs to rip open the throats of his prey. But the dishonest man was too clever for that, and as he leaped, he spun in a neat circle, blade high above his head, and slashed the wolf open from beneath. It fell dead at his feet, and the dishonest ran on. Thirty feet, now twenty, now ten. Ahead he could see the tunnel entrance marked by earth and dirty snow. He was almost there when he saw a flash of red to his left and heard the hiss of a sword cutting through the air. He raised his own blade just in time to deflect Lobo's saber, but the loup was stronger than he expected, and the dishonest stumbled slightly, almost falling to the ground. Had he done that, it would all have been over quickly as Lobo was already preparing to deliver the killing blow. Instead, the blade sliced??through the dishonest man's clothing, narrowly missing the arm underneath, but the dishonest man acted as if he had been seriously injured. He dropped his blade and staggered backwards, his left hand clutching the imaginary wound on his right arm. The wolves surrounded him now, watching the two combatants, howling in their support for Lobo and urging him to finish the job. Lobo lifted his head and growled once,

"You made a fatal mistake," Lobo said. "You should have stayed behind the castle walls. We will break them in time, but you might have lived a little longer if you stayed within their limits.”

The dishonest man laughed into Lobo's face, which now looked almost human except for a few unruly hairs and a slight snout.

"No, it's you who's wrong," he said. "Look at yourself. You are neither human nor animal, but a pathetic creature that is less than both. You hate what you are and want to be what you cannot really become. Your appearance may change and you like everyone wearing the fine clothes that you can steal from the bodies of your victims, but inside you will still be a wolf. Even then, what do you think will happen when your outer transformation is complete, when you start to resemble what what you once hunted? You will look like a man and the pack will no longer recognize you as their own. What you desire most is the very thing that will damn you, for they will tear you apart and you will die in their jaws, as others have died in yours.

Until then, half-blood, I tell you… farewell!”

And with that he disappeared feet first into the mouth of the tunnel and was gone.

It took Lobo a second or two to realize what had happened. He opened his mouth to howl in anger, but the sound that came out was a kind of choked cough. It was as the dishonest man had said: Lobo's transformation was almost complete, and his wolf voice was now replaced by a man's voice. To hide his surprise at losing his Howl, Lobo motioned for two of his scouts to proceed to the tunnel entrance. They sniffed the disturbed earth cautiously, then one quickly stuck his head in and quickly pulled it out in case the dishonest man was waiting below. When nothing happened, it tried again and lingered longer. It sniffed the air in the tunnel. The smell of dishonesty was there, but it was already fading.

Lobo got on one knee and examined the hole, then looked across at the hills beyond which the castle lay. He considered his options. Despite its roar, it seemed increasingly unlikely that they would find a way through the castle walls. If they didn't attack soon, his wolf army would become more restless and hungry than it already was. Rival packs would attack each other. Fighting and cannibalization of the weak would ensue. In their anger, they rebelled against Lobo and his companions Loups. No, he had to move, and fast. If he could secure the castle, his army could feed on its defenders while he and his loups plotted a new order. Perhaps the dishonest man had simply overestimated his own abilities by using the tunnel to exit the castle and had taken an unnecessary risk hoping to kill some wolves, maybe even Lobo himself. Whatever the reason, Lobo had gotten the chance he had almost despaired of. The tunnel was narrow and wide enough for only one loup or wolf at a time. Even so, it would allow a small force to enter the castle, and if they could get to the castle gates and open them from the inside, the defenders would be quickly overwhelmed. Lobo had been given the chance he had almost despaired of. The tunnel was narrow and wide enough for only one loup or wolf at a time. Even so, it would allow a small force to enter the castle, and if they could get to the castle gates and open them from the inside, the defenders would be quickly overwhelmed. Lobo had been given the chance he had almost despaired of. The tunnel was narrow and wide enough for only one loup or wolf at a time. Even so, it would allow a small force to enter the castle, and if they could get to the castle gates and open them from the inside, the defenders would be quickly overwhelmed.

Lobo turned to one of his lieutenants. "Send skirmishers to the castle to distract the troops on the walls," he ordered. "Start moving the main forces forward and bring me my best horrors. Let the attack begin!”

Chapter 31

Of the battle and the fate of those who would become king

THE KING was slumped on his throne, his chin on his chest. He looked like he was sleeping, but as Adam got closer, he saw that the old man's eyes were open and staring blankly at the floor. The Book of Lost Things lay on his lap, the king's hand resting on its binding. Four guards surrounded him, one at each corner of the dais, and more stood at the doors and on the gallery. As the captain approached with Adam, the king looked up and the look on his face made Adam's stomach clench. It was the face of a man who was told that his only chance of avoiding the executioner was to convince someone else to take his place, and in Adam the king seemed to see that very person. The centurion stopped in front of the throne, bowed and left her. The king ordered the guards to stand back so they couldn't hear what was being said, then tried to compose his features into an expression of friendliness. However, his eyes betrayed him: they were desperate and hostile and cunning.

"I was hoping," he began, "to speak to you under better circumstances. We're surrounded, but there's no need to be afraid. They are mere beasts and we will always outclass them.”

He pointed his finger at Adam. "Come closer boy."

Adam climbed the steps. His face was now level with the king's. The king ran his fingers along the armrests of the throne, pausing now and then to examine particularly fine details of the ornaments, to lightly caress a ruby??or emerald.

"It's a beautiful throne, isn't it?" he asked Adam.

"It is very beautiful," said Adam, and the king gave him a sharp look, as if unsure whether he was being mocked by the boy or not. Adam's face gave nothing away, and the king decided to let his answer go unchallenged.

“From the earliest times the kings and queens of the kingdom have sat on this throne and ruled the land from there. Do you know what they all had in common? I'll tell you: They all came from your world, not this one. your world and mine

When one ruler dies, another crosses the border between the two worlds and takes the throne. It's the way of things here and it's a great honor to be selected. That honor is yours now.”

Adam didn't answer, so the king continued.

“I am aware that you have met the dishonest man. Don't be put off by its appearance. He means well, although he does have a way of, um, manipulating the truth. He has shadowed your path since you arrived here, and there have been times when you were close to death and only saved by his intervention. First I know he offered to take you back home, but that was a lie. It is not within his gift or power to do so until you claim the throne. Once you've risen to your rightful place, you can command it to do whatever you want. If you refuse the throne, he will kill you and seek another. It's always been like that.

“You must accept what is offered to you. If you don't like it, or find it not in your power to rule, then you can order the dishonest man to take you back to your own country, and the deal will be completed. After all, you will be the king and he will only be a subject. He asks only that your brother come with you so that you may have company in this new world when you begin to rule. In time, he may even bring your father here if you wish, and imagine how proud he will be to see his firstborn enthroned, the king of a great empire! Well what do you say?

When the king finished speaking, any pity Adam might have felt for him was gone. Everything the king said was a lie. Little did he know that Adam had consulted the Book of Lost Things, that he had entered the dishonest man's hideout and met Emma there. Adam knew of hearts consumed in darkness and of the essence of children kept in jars to strengthen the dishonest man's life. The king, weighed down by guilt and grief, wanted to be absolved of his dealings with the dishonest man, and he would say anything to get Adam to take his place.

"Is that the Book of Lost Things in your hands?" asked Adam. "They say it holds all kinds of knowledge, maybe even magic. Is that true?"

The king's eyes glittered. "Oh, very true, very true. I'll give it to you when I abdicate and the crown becomes yours. It will be my coronation gift. With it you can command the dishonest man to do your will and he must obey. Once you are king, I have no use for it."

For a moment the king looked almost regretful. Once again his fingers roamed the cover of the book, smoothing out loose threads and exploring the places where the spine had begun to separate from the rest. It was like something alive to him, as if his heart had also been removed from his body when he came to this land and it had taken the form of a book.

"And what will become of you when I am king?" asked Adam.

The king looked away before answering. "Oh, I'm going to get out of here and find a quiet place to enjoy my retirement," he said. "I may even return to our world to see what has changed there since I left it."

But his words were hollow and his voice cracked under the weight of his guilt and his lies.

"I know who you are," Adam said softly.

The king leaned forward on his throne. "What did you say?"

"I know who you are," Adam repeated. "You are Joseph Redford. Your adoptive sister's name was Emma. You were jealous of her when she was brought to your house and that jealousy never went away. The dishonest man came and showed you what life could be like without her and you betrayed her. You tricked her into following you through the sunken garden and here. The dishonest man killed her and ate her heart, then kept her spirit in a glass jar. There is no magic in that book on your lap, and its only secrets are yours. You're a sad, wicked old man, and you can keep your kingdom and your throne. I do not want it. I don't want any of that."

A figure emerged from the shadows.

"Then you will die," said the dishonest man.

He appeared to be much older than when Adam had last seen him, and his skin looked torn and diseased. He had bruises and blisters on his face and hands, and he stank of his own depravity.

"You've been busy, I see," said the dishonest man. “You stuck your nose in places where you had no business. You took something that belongs to me. Where is she?"

"It's not yours," Adam said. "She doesn't belong to anyone."

Adam drew his sword. It trembled a little this time as his hand trembled, but not much.

The dishonest man just laughed at him. "Never mind," he said. "She had reached the end of her usefulness. Be careful lest the same be said of you. Death comes for you and no sword can stop it. You think you're brave, but let's see how brave you are when hot wolf breath and saliva spray your face and your throat is ripped out. Then you will cry and wail and call for me and maybe I will answer. Perhaps…

"Tell me your brother's name and I will save you from all pain. I promise I won't hurt him. The country needs a king. If you are ready to take the throne, I will let your brother live when I bring him here. I'll find another to take its place 'cause there's still sand in my hourglass. Both of you will stay here together and rule justly and fairly. All of this will happen. I give you my word

Just tell me his name.”

The guards watched Adam now, their own weapons drawn, ready to cut him down if he tried to hurt the king. But the king raised his hand to let them know all was well, and they relaxed a bit as they waited to see what would unfold.

"If you don't tell me his name, I will return to your world and kill the child in his bed," said the dishonest man. "Even if it's the last thing I do, I'll leave his blood on the pillows and sheets. Your choice is simple: you two can rule together, or you can both die separately. There is no other way."

Adam shook his head. "No," he said. "I will not allow you."

"Allow? Allow?" The dishonest man's face contorted as he forced out the word.

His lips cracked and a little blood trickled from the cracks, for he had little left to spill.

"Listen to me," he said. “Let me tell you the truth about the world you so desperately want to return to. It is a place of pain, suffering and sorrow. As you left it, cities were attacked. Women and children were blown to pieces or burned alive by bombs dropped from planes flown by men with their own wives and children. People were dragged from their homes and shot in the street. Your world is tearing itself apart, and the most amusing part of all is that things weren't much better before the war. War only gives people an excuse to continue to indulge themselves and kill with impunity. There were wars before and there will be wars after and in between people will still fight and hurt and maim and betray

"And even if you avoid war and violent death, little boy, what else do you think life has in store for you? You've already seen what it's capable of.

It took your mother from you, robbed her of health and beauty, and then cast her aside like the withered rotten rind of a fruit. It will take you others too, tag me. The ones you care about – lovers, children - will fall by the wayside, and your love won't be enough to save them. Your health will fail you.

You get old and sick. Your limbs will ache, your eyesight will fade, and your skin will wrinkle and age. There will be pains deep inside that no doctor can heal. Diseases will find a warm, humid place inside you and there they will multiply, spreading through your system and corrupting it cell by cell until you're praying that the doctors will let you die to put you out of your misery, but they won't. Instead, you will linger with no one to hold your hand or settle your brow as death comes and lures you into its darkness. The life you left behind is no life at all. Here you can be king and I will allow you to age gracefully and without pain, and when the time comes for your death, I will send you gently to sleep and you will wake up in the paradise of your choice, for each man dreams his own heaven. All I ask in return is that you name the child in your house so that you may have company in that place. name him! Name him now before it's too late."

As he spoke, the tapestry shifted and billowed behind the king, and a gray figure emerged from behind it and lunged at the nearest guard's chest. The wolf's head drooped and twisted, and the guard's throat was torn open. The wolf let out a loud howl even as the arrows shot down by the gallery guards pierced his heart. More wolves poured through the doorway, so many that the tapestry was torn from the wall and fell to the floor in a cloud of dust. The Grays, the most loyal and fierce of Lobo's troops, invaded the throne room. A horn sounded and guards emerged from each door. A furious fight began, the guards beat and speared the wolves, trying to hold back their tide, while the wolves snapped and growled, seeking every opening they could find to kill the men. They bit legs, stomachs and arms, ripped open bellies and opened throats. Soon the ground was covered in blood, red channels running between the edges of the stones. The guards had formed a semicircle around the open door, but the sheer number of wolves forced them back.

The dishonest man pointed to the teeming, fighting mass of people and animals.

"See!" he yelled at Adam. "Your sword will not save you. only I can do that.

Tell me his name and I'll get you out of here right away. Speak and save yourself!”

Black and white wolves had now joined the grays. The wolf packs began to work their way past the guards, entering rooms and hallways, and killing anyone who opposed them. The king jumped down from his throne and stared in horror at the guard wall that was slowly being pushed towards him by the pack.

The captain of the guard appeared on his right. "Come, Your Majesty," he said. "We have to get you to safety."

But the king pushed him away and glared at the dishonest man. "You betrayed us," he said. "You betrayed us all."

The dishonest man ignored him. His attention was only on Adam. "The name," he said again. "Tell me his name."

Behind him, the wolves broke through the human wall. Now there were newcomers walking on their hind legs and wearing mercenary uniforms.

The Loups slashed at the guards with their swords and forced their way through the doors leading from the throne room. Two immediately disappeared down a hallway, followed by six wolves. They walked toward the castle gates.

Then Lobo appeared. He looked out at the carnage ahead, and he saw the throne, his throne, and he found a final lupine howl within himself, signaling his triumph.

The king trembled at the sound even as Lobo's eyes found his and the Loup advanced to kill him. The captain of the guard was still trying to protect the king. He kept two Grays at bay with his sword, but it was clear he was getting tired.

"Go, Majesty!" he shouted. "Go now!"

But the words were stopped in his throat when an arrow hit his chest, fired from one of Lobos Loups. The captain fell to the ground and the wolves pounced on him.

The king reached under the folds of his robe and drew out an ornate golden dagger, then approached the dishonest man. "Fine thing," he called. "After everything I've done, after everything you've made me do, you betrayed me last."

"I made you do nothing, Joseph," the dishonest man replied. "You did it because you wanted to. Nobody can make you do bad things. You had evil in you and you gave in to it. Men will always enjoy it.”

He slashed at the king with his own blade, and the old man staggered and nearly fell. In a flash, the dishonest man turned to grab Adam, but the boy stepped out of his way and slashed at him with his sword, causing a wound across the dishonest man's chest that stank but did not bleed.

"You will die!" cried the dishonest. "Tell me his name and you will live!"

He walked towards Adam, unaware of his injury. Adam tried to stab him again, but the dishonest man dodged the punch and fought back, his nails digging deep into Adam's arm. Adam felt like he had been poisoned as pain seeped into his arm, coursed through his veins and froze his blood until it reached his hand and the sword fell from his numb fingers. He was now standing against a wall, surrounded by fighting men and snarling wolves. Over the dishonest man's shoulder he saw Lobo walking towards the king. The king tried to stab him with his dagger, but Lobo knocked him away and he slipped over the stones.

"The name!" shrieked the dishonest. "The name, or I'll leave you to the wolves."

Lobo picked up the king as if he were a doll, put his hand under the old man's chin and tilted his head to expose the king's neck. Lobo stopped and looked at Adam. "You're next," he said happily, then opened his mouth wide to reveal his sharp white teeth. He bit the king's throat and shook him as he killed him. The eyes of the dishonest opened in horror as the king's life dried up. A large patch of skin peeled away from the impostor's face like old wallpaper, revealing the grey, decaying flesh beneath.

"No!" he screamed, then reached out and grabbed Adam by the throat. "The name. You must tell me the name or we are both lost."

Adam was very scared and knew he was going to die.

"His name is..." he began.

"Yes!" said the dishonest one, "Yes!" as the king's last breath bubbled in his throat and Lobo tossed his dying body aside, wiping the old man's blood from his mouth as he walked toward Adam.

"His name is…"

"Tell me!" shrieked the dishonest.

"His name is 'brother,'" Adam said.

The dishonest man's body collapsed in despair. "No," he moaned. "No."

Deep in the bowels of the castle, the last grains of sand trickled through the hourglass's neck, and on a balcony far above, the ghost of a girl glowed brightly for a second, and then faded completely. Had anyone been there to see, they would have heard her sigh softly, filled with joy and peace, for her torment was at an end.

"No!" howled the dishonest man as his skin split open and all the foul gas began to burst out of him. All was lost, all was lost. After an immeasurable time and countless stories, his life came to an end. And he was so angry that he dug his nails into his own scalp and started tearing them apart, tearing skin and flesh. A deep gash appeared on his forehead and quickly extended down the bridge of his nose as he pulled towards himself before bisecting his mouth. Half of his head was now in each of his hands, eyes rolling wildly, but he tore anyway, the large wound progressing through his throat and chest and abdomen until it reached his thighs, whereupon his body eventually became two separate parts and fell apart completely.

Lobo grinned down at the chaos. Adam had begun to close his eyes and prepare for death when Lobo suddenly shuddered. He opened his mouth to speak and his jaw fell away, landing on the stones at his feet. His skin began to crumble and peel like old plaster. He tried to move, but his legs wouldn't carry him anymore. Instead, they broke his knees, causing him to fall forward and cracking his face and the backs of his hands. He tried to scrape the floor, but his fingers shattered like glass. Only his eyes remained as they had been, but they were filled with confusion and pain now.

Adam watched Lobo die. He alone understood what was going on.

"You were the king's nightmare, not mine," he said. "When you killed him, you killed yourself."

Lobo's eyes blinked blankly, then stopped moving. He became just the broken statue of an animal, now without the fear of another to bring it to life. Tiny cracks covered his entire body, and then he collapsed into a million pieces and was gone forever.

Around the throne room, the other loups crumbled to dust and the common wolves, stripped of their leaders, began retreating down the tunnel as more guards entered the throne room, their shields raised to form a wall of steel through which the Spearheads stabbed like a hedgehog's quills. They ignored Adam as he picked up his sword and ran through the castle's hallways, past terrified servants and confused courtiers, until he found himself outside. He climbed to the top of the pinnacle and stared out at the landscape beyond. The Wolf Army was thrown into confusion. Allies now turned on each other, fighting, biting, the fast climbing over the slow in their urge to retreat and return to their old territories.

Adam felt a hand on his arm and looked around to see a familiar face.

It was the lumberjack. There was wolf blood on his clothes and skin. It dripped from the blade of his ax and pooled darkly on the ground.

Adam couldn't speak. He just dropped his sword and backpack and hugged the woodcutter tightly. The woodcutter put a hand on the boy's hand and gently stroked his hair.

"I thought you were dead," Adam sighed. "I saw the wolves drag you away."

"No wolf will take my life," he said. "I managed to fight my way to the horse breeder's hut. I barricaded the door and then passed out from my wounds. It has been many days before I am well enough to follow your trail, and I have not yet been able to get through the ranks of the wolves. But we must leave this place quickly. It won't last much longer."

Adam felt the battlements tremble beneath his feet. A gap opened in the wall beneath his feet. Others appeared in the main buildings, and bricks and mortar began to tumble onto the cobblestones below. The labyrinth of tunnels under the castle collapsed and the world of kings and crooks fell apart.

The woodcutter led Adam down into the yard where a horse was waiting and told him to mount it, but Adam found Scylla in her barn instead. The horse, frightened by the sounds of fighting and the howling of the wolves, whinnied in relief at the sight of the boy. Adam patted her forehead and whispered soothing words to her, then mounted her and followed the woodcutter out of the castle.

Mounted guards were already harassing the fleeing wolves, forcing them to flee farther and farther from the scene of the battle. A steady stream of people moved through the main gates, servants and courtiers laden with whatever food or riches they could carry as they exited the castle before it fell to rubble around their ears. Adam and the woodcutter took a path that took them out of the confusion, pausing only when they were safely away from wolves and humans, and stood on a hilltop overlooking the castle. From there they watched it collapse in on itself until all that was left was a hole in the floor scarred by wood and brick and a cloud of dirty, suffocating dust. Then they turned their backs on him, and rode together many days,

The woodcutter and Adam dismounted in front of the big tree.

"It's time," said the woodcutter. "Now you have to go home."

Chapter 32

From Violet

Adam stood in the middle of the forest and stared at the long twine and the depression in the tree that had now reappeared. One of the nearby trees had recently been scratched by an animal's claws, and bloody sap was dripping from the wound in its trunk, staining the snow beneath. A breeze stirred his neighbors so that their branches caressed his crown, calming and soothing them, making them aware of their presence. The clouds above them began to break up, and sunlight lanced through the gaps. The world changed, changed by the end of the dishonest man.

"Now that it's time to go, I'm not sure I want to go," Adam said. "I feel like there's more to see. I don't want things to go back to the way they were."

"People are waiting for you on the other side," said the woodcutter. "You must return to them. They love you and without you their life will be poorer.

You have a father and a brother and a wife who would be your mother if you let her. You have to go back or her life will be ruined by your absence.

In a way, you've already made your decision. You turned down the dishonest man's deal. You have chosen not to live here, but to live in your own world.”

Adam nods. He knew the woodcutter was right.

"There will be questions if you come back as you are," said the woodcutter.

"You must leave behind everything you carry, even your sword. You won't need it in your own world."

Adam took the package containing his tattered pajamas and robe from his saddlebag and pulled them on behind a bush. His old clothes felt strange on him now. He had changed so much that they looked as if they belonged to someone else, one who vaguely knew him but was younger and dumber. They were a child's clothes and he was no longer a child.

"Tell me something, please," Adam said.

"Whatever you want to know," said the woodcutter.

“You gave me clothes when I came here, a boy's clothes. Have you ever had children?”

The woodcutter smiled. "They were all my children," he said. "Everyone who was lost, everyone found, everyone who lived and everyone who died: all, all were mine in their own way."

"Did you know the king was wrong when you started leading me to him?" asked Adam. That question had been on his mind ever since the woodcutter reappeared. He couldn't believe that this man would willingly put him in danger.

"And what would you have done if I had told you what I knew or suspected about the King and the Deceiver? When you came here, you were consumed with anger and sadness. They would have yielded to the flattery of the dishonest man and then all would have been lost. I had hoped to lead you to the king myself, and on the journey I would have tried to help you see the danger you were in, but that was not to be. Instead, while others helped you on your way, it was your own strength and courage that finally led you to understand your place in this world and your own. You were a kid when I first found you, but now you're becoming a man."

He held out his hand to the boy. Adam shook it, then let go and hugged the woodcutter. After a moment, the woodcutter returned the gesture, and they stayed like that, garlanded with sunlight, until the boy stepped back.

Then Adam went to Scylla and kissed the horse's forehead. "I'll miss you," he whispered to her, and the horse whinnied softly and nestled against the boy's neck.

Adam went to the old tree and looked back at the woodcutter. "Can I ever come back here?" he asked, and the woodcutter said something very strange in reply.

"Most people come back here," he said, "at the end."

He raised his hand in farewell, and Adam took a deep breath and stepped into the trunk of the tree.

At first all he could smell was musk and earth and the dry decay of old leaves. He touched the inside of the tree and felt the roughness of its bark on his fingers.

Although the tree was huge, it couldn't take more than a few steps before hitting the inside. His arm still hurt from where the dishonest man had pierced it with his nails. He felt claustrophobic. There seemed no way out, but the woodcutter wouldn't have lied to him. No, there must have been a mistake. He decided to head back outside, but when he turned around, the entrance was gone. The tree had sealed itself completely and now he was trapped inside. Adam began screaming for help, banging his fists on the wood, but his words just echoed around him, slamming into his face and taunting him even as they faded away.

But suddenly it became light. The tree was sealed, but light still came from above. Adam looked up and saw something twinkling like a star. As he watched, it grew and grew, lowering toward where he was standing. Or maybe he rose, stepped towards him, for all his senses were bewildered. He heard unfamiliar sounds—metal on metal, wheels squealing—and a sharp chemical smell nearby. He saw things—the light, the ridges and crevices in the log—but gradually realized that his eyes were closed. If that was the case, how much more could he see with his eyes open?

Adam opened his eyes.

He was lying on a metal bed in an unfamiliar room. Two large windows looked out onto a green lawn where children with nurses at their sides walked or were wheeled in chairs by orderlies dressed in white. There were flowers by his bed. A needle was embedded in his right forearm and connected by tubing to a bottle on a steel frame. There was a tightness around his head. He reached out to touch his fingers and felt bandages instead of hair. He turned slowly to the left. The movement made his neck ache and his head started pounding. Next to him, Violet slept on a chair. Her clothes were wrinkled and her hair greasy and unwashed. A book lay on her lap, the pages marked with a red ribbon.

Adam tried to speak but his throat was too dry. He tried again and let out a hoarse croak. Violet slowly opened her eyes and stared at him in disbelief.

"Adam?" She said.

He still couldn't speak properly. Violet poured water from a jug into a glass and put it to his lips, supporting his head so he could drink more easily. Adam saw that she was crying. Some of her tears dripped onto his face as she removed the glass and he tasted them as they fell into his mouth.

"Oh, Adam," she whispered. "We were so worried."

She placed her palm on his cheek and stroked him gently. She couldn't stop crying, but he could see that despite her tears, she was happy.

"Purple," Adam said.

She leaned forward. "Yes, Adam, what is that?"

He took her hand in his.

"I'm sorry," he said.

And then he fell back into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 33

Of all that was lost and all that was found

In the days that followed, Adam's father spoke often about how close Adam had come to being taken from them: about how they couldn't find any trace of him after the crash, about how they were convinced he had been alive burned in the rubble, then when no trace of him was discovered, fearing he may have been kidnapped by them; how they had searched the house and gardens and woods, finally searched the fields for him, aided by their friends, by the police, even by strangers passing by, troubled by their pain; how they had returned to his room, hoping he might have left some clue as to where he was going; how they finally found a hidden place behind the wall of the sunken garden,

Doctors said he suffered another one of his seizures, perhaps as a result of the accidental trauma, and it put him in a coma. Adam had remained in a deep sleep for many days until he woke up in the morning and said Violet's name. And while there were aspects of his disappearance that couldn't be fully explained — what he was initially doing out in the garden and how he got hold of some of the marks on his body — they were just glad to have him back, and not a word of that Guilt or anger was ever directed at him. It was only much later, when he was out of danger and back in his own room, that Violet and his father, alone in their bed at night, realized how much the incident had changed Adam, making him both calmer and more thoughtful of others; more affectionate towards Violet, and more understanding of her own difficulties in trying to find a place for herself in the lives of these two men, Adam and his father; more responsive to sudden noises and potential dangers, but also more protective against those weaker than him, and especially against Tommie, his half-brother.

Years passed and Adam grew from boy to man both too slowly and too quickly: too slowly for him, but too quickly for his father and Violet. Tommie was growing too, and he and Adam remained as close as siblings can be, even after Violet and her father went their separate ways, as adults sometimes do. They divorced amicably, and neither of them ever remarried. Adam went to college and his father found a little cottage by a creek where he could fish after he retired. Violet and Tommie lived together in the big old house and Adam visited as often as he could, either alone or with his father. When time permitted, he would go into his old bedroom and listen to the books whisper, but they were always silent.

But over time, Adam discovered that the dishonest man had not lied about at least one thing: his life was filled with great sorrow and great happiness, sorrow and regret, and triumph and contentment. Adam lost his father when he was thirty-two and his father's heart failed as he sat by the river with a fishing pole in his hands and the sun shone on his face, leaving him when he was found hours after his death by a passerby was, His skin was still warm. Tommie attended the funeral in his army uniform because another war had started in the East and Tommie was keen to do his duty. He traveled to a far-off land and died there along with other young men whose dreams of honor and glory ended on a muddy battlefield.

Adam married a woman with dark hair and green eyes. Her name was Alison.

They planned a family together and the time came for Alyson to give birth to her child. But Adam worried for both of them, for he couldn't forget the dishonest man's words: "Those you care about—loved ones, children—will fall by the wayside, and your love won't be enough to save them."

There were complications at birth. The son, whom they named George in honor of his uncle, was not strong enough to live, and when Alyson gave him a short life, she lost her own, thus fulfilling the dishonest man's prophecy. Adam did not remarry and never have another child, but he became a writer and wrote a book. He called it the Book of Lost Things, and the book you are holding is the book he wrote. And when children asked him if it was true, he would tell them yes, it was true, or as true as anything in this world can be, because that's how he remembered it.

And they all became his children in a way.

As Violet grew older and weaker, Adam took care of her. When Violet died, she left her home to Adam. He could have sold it because by then it was worth a lot of money, but he didn't. Instead he moved in and set up his small office on the ground floor and he lived there happily for many years, always opening his door to the children who called – sometimes with their parents, sometimes alone - for the house was very famous and great many Boys and girls wanted to see it. If they were very good, he would take them to the sunken garden, although the cracks in the brickwork had long since been repaired, because Adam didn't want children crawling in there and getting into trouble. Instead he talked to them about stories and books and explained to them how stories should be told and books should be read,

And some of the kids got it, some didn't.

Over time, Adam himself became frail and ill. He was no longer able to write, because his memory and eyesight failed him, or even go very far to greet the children as he used to. (And that, too, the dishonest had told him as surely as if Adam had stared into the lady's mirrored eyes in the dungeon.) There was nothing the doctors could do for him except try to ease his pain a little. He hired a nurse to take care of him and his friends came to spend time by his side. As the end drew near, he asked for a bed to be made up for him in the great library downstairs, and each night he slept surrounded by the books he had loved as a boy and as a man. He also asked his gardener softly,

And in the deepest, darkest hours of the night, Adam lay awake and listened.

The books began to whisper again, but he felt no fear. They spoke softly, offering words of comfort and grace. Sometimes they told the stories he had always loved, but now among them was his own.

One night, when his breathing had become very shallow and the light in his eyes had finally dimmed, Adam Violet left his bed in the library and slowly walked towards the door, pausing only to pick up a book on the way. It was an old leather-bound album, and inside were photographs and letters, cards and trinkets, drawings and poems, strands of hair and a pair of wedding rings, all relics of a life long lived, except this time the life was his. The whispers of the books grew louder, the voices of the tomes rose in a great chorus of joy, for a story was ending and a new story was about to be born. The old man stroked her spine goodbye as he walked out of the room, then left the library and the house for the last time,

In one corner the gardener had opened a hole large enough to hold a grown man. Adam got on his hands and knees and laboriously crawled into the gap until he found himself in the cavity behind the brickwork.

Then he sat in the dark and waited. At first nothing happened and he had to struggle not to close his eyes, but after a while he saw a light growing and felt a cool breeze on his face. He smelled tree bark and fresh grass and blooming flowers. A hollow opened before him and he stepped through it and found himself in the heart of a great forest. The country had changed forever. There were no longer beasts like humans or shapeless nightmares waiting for their chance to catch the unwary. There was no more fear, no more endless twilight. Even the flowers of children were gone, for the blood of children was no longer spilled in shady places, and their souls found rest. The sun was setting but it was a beautiful sight lighting up the sky purple, red and orange,

A man stood in front of Adam. In one hand he carried an ax and in the other a garland of flowers that he had collected on his way through the forest and tied together with long blades of grass.

"I came back," Adam said, and the woodcutter smiled.

"Ultimately most people do," he replied, and Adam wondered how similar his father was to the woodcutter and how he hadn't noticed it before.

"Come with me," said the woodcutter. "We have been waiting for you."

And Adam saw himself reflected in the eyes of the woodcutter, and there he was no longer old, but a young man, for a man is always his father's child, no matter how old he is or how long they were apart.

Adam followed the woodcutter down forest paths, through clearings, and across creeks, until they finally came to a cabin with sluggish smoke rising from the chimney. A horse stood in a small field nearby, munching contentedly on the grass, and as Adam approached it lifted its head and whinnied with delight, shaking its mane as it trotted across the field to greet him. Adam walked to the fence and bowed his head to Scylla. Scylla closed her eyes as he kissed her forehead, then shadowed his footsteps as he approached the house, sometimes nudging his shoulder gently as if to remind him of her presence.

The door of the hut opened and a woman appeared. She had dark hair and green eyes. In her arms she held a little boy, barely out of the womb, who clung to her blouse as she walked, for life was but a moment in this place, and every man dreams of his own heaven.

And in the darkness Adam closed his eyes as all that was lost was found again.