Darkhenge

There shall be great darkness.

There shall be a shaking of the mountain.

“THE BATTLE OF THE TREES”

The King was terrified. He clung to her arm. “Stop them. They’ll grow. The forest will grow,” he whispered. “Stop them, Chloe!”

How could she stop them?

Every seed was sprouting. And as she watched, an acorn split, sent a pale root splintering into the smooth shell, a shoot unkinking into the air. They grew rapidly, unbelievably. Saplings of every size and species shot up, snapping the chamber floor, cracking it into tilted slabs.

She pulled him back. “Trees can’t hurt you!”

“They’ll attack now. Our enemies.”

“Your enemies.” She had to shout over the shattering of walls and roof, of leaves unfurling. One of the swiftest trees had reached the roof; with an almighty shudder the smooth mother-of-pearl broke and collapsed. Shards fell, sharp as glass.

“We’re finished,” he muttered. “There’s no way out. You’ll have to go with them.” He stepped back, away from her, hugging himself. “Go on, Chloe. Leave me here.”

She breathed out in frustration, then tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not leaving you.”

His brown eyes stared in astonishment.

“No one,” she said firmly, “treats me like a little girl. Not anymore.”

“But we’re trapped!”

“Rubbish!” She slid back between the thin trunks, twisting under branches. “None of this is real. It’s not happening. This is the Unworld. We can change whatever we want to.”

He had hold of her arm. “I can’t. But maybe you can.”

“Me?”

“Quick, Chloe! I can hear them.”

So could she. Seeds were splitting and cracking under their feet; the intruders were running down the spiral ramp, two shadows already huge and distorted along the pearly walls.

“Give me your mask,” she snapped.

“What?”

“Give it to me!” She went to snatch it; he stopped her. His hand was cold with damp and sweat. Shaking, he undid the birch mask and held it out; underneath was another, of holly leaves and red berries like one she’d once worn to a Christmas party.

“Right. Now get behind me.”

She slipped the mask on. It was warm; the beech bark scratched her cheeks and forehead, its sappy smell rich and cloying, and at once she felt as if she was looking out from the heart of one of the trees, as if bark was growing all over and around her, closing her in, a dryad, a creature of twigs and roots. She stepped into shadow, with a sudden conviction that if she kept still no one could find her. And if she didn’t speak. Because a tree had no words.

Copying her, the King crouched deep in a holly sapling. She could barely make him out herself.

She took small, tense breaths.

The footsteps raced down the spiral tunnel. Shadows grew, then paused.

A hand came around the corner, a delicate hand, burned three times on the back.

Then she saw the man.

Vetch paused warily at the foot of the curled ramp. In the pearly light his face was paler than ever, the mark on his forehead clear. He reached out and held both arms wide against the walls, blocking Rob’s way. “Wait. Something’s wrong.”

Over his shoulder Rob saw a room of trees. They were so closely meshed they had split the walls and ceiling and were still growing. Branches creaked with tightening pressure; in places shafts of pale moonlight glimmered down from above. Showers of dust fell, light as eggshell, and then fragments of bone white chalk, and soil.

“The roof’s going to collapse,” he breathed. Then, “Where are they?”

“They’re in here,” Vetch murmured. “Both of them.”

He stepped into the room, circling. Then he reached out and touched the nearest tree with his scarred hand, fingering the bark, the dusty green lichen. He looked up. “Call her, Rob. Call her name.”

Inside the mask, Chloe took a sharp breath of astonishment.

Behind the man in the dark coat was a boy. His hair was filthy with mud and his face smeared with lichen. The expensive green top and jeans were snagged and ruined. But she knew who he was.

He turned away from her.

“Chloe! It’s Rob! It’s all right, we’re here. He can’t hurt you now, Chloe! We’re here to take you back.”

She didn’t move. She couldn’t. She felt as if she had truly rooted, grown into the ground, become a dumb, rigid thing. Her eyes flickered to the King; she could only see the holly mask. Behind its eyeholes was a gleam, barely visible. She knew he was watching her. All she had to do was speak.

All she had to do was say one word.

“They’ve gone!” Rob’s voice was an agony, but Vetch didn’t move.

“Not so, Rob.” He slid the skin bag from his coat and dipped his hand in, bringing out a thin hazel wand; he began to move into the trees with it, touching each in turn.

“If she was in here she’d answer,” Rob snapped. But there was a terrible disbelief in him, because what if it was true, that she hated him, that he was the reason she might not want to go back? For a moment he saw her as she had been for three months, askew in the bed in the nursing home, and then swinging on the swing in the garden when she’d been four or five, small, cute, her hands chubby, her fingers tiny.

He couldn’t bear it; he blundered after Vetch.

Into something soft.

As the poet’s wand touched the tree, it was not a tree at all, but a girl in a brown dress, a dress that trailed on the floor. Her hair was long and she wore a birch mask of peeling bark; her fingernails were sharp and painted, her hands hennaed with patterns of leaf and shade. For a moment she was a creature out of some legend; then he knew it was Chloe, and a great sob of relief went through him.

But as he grabbed her, she jerked back.

“Chloe! It’s Rob!”

“I know very well who it is.” Her voice was flat and scathing.

Shocked, he reached out.

“Don’t touch me, Rob,” she snapped angrily. “I don’t want you here. No one asked you to come.” She folded her arms as if barely containing her fury. “You always come and spoil everything.”

He couldn’t believe this. It stunned him. She wasn’t relieved, wasn’t even pleased to see him. And yet it was just like her. Like Chloe. With a cold shock he realized that something Mac had once warned him of had come true, that over the months of her coma he had made a new Chloe in his mind, a softer, friendlier Chloe, with no tempers or scorn, a Chloe that had never existed, a Chloe that he preferred to the real one.

Confused, he said, “We’ve come to rescue you.”

“I don’t want to be rescued.”

“Yes you do. You must!”

She glared at him through the mask, an alien creature, her eyes green.

Vetch glanced around; now he reached in and hauled the King out of the holly bush. The King pulled away, then smiled sourly, brushing down his velvet clothes. “Tell them, Chloe,” he said. “Tell them you’re with me.”

“Shut up. All of you!” Then she turned on Vetch. “Am I dead? Is that it?”

The poet’s calmness seemed to still her. After a moment he said, “You’re not dead.” His voice was gentle; he took a step toward her and she didn’t back away. “Your body lies in a coma, a long way from here. This is Annwn, where hidden things are clear, where memories surface. Rob has come to take you home.”

Impatient, she shrugged. “How long?”

“Three months.” Rob’s throat was dry; he swallowed. “You were riding Callie. You fell. Near Falkner’s Circle. You must remember.”

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

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

Beside the slowly unfurling holly, the King grinned.

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

“I was.”

“It doesn’t look like that.”

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

He was breathless, silenced with dismay.

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

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

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

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

He said unhappily, “Chloe—”

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

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

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

“I could force you to,” Vetch murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rob tore the ivy from his throat.

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

He froze. “No. Chloe…”

“I could. That would show them all.”

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

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

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

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

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