Peter, with Tink still in his hair, climbed onto the windowsill, then slid off, hovering in midair.
“Look at that!” said George, smiling hugely. “Brilliant!”
Below Peter, the wolves growled.
“What was that?” said George.
“The wolves,” said Peter.
“Ah,” said George, his smile dimming. “I’d forgotten about the wolves.”
“Don’t worry about them,” said Molly, guiding George up onto the sill. “Just remember: lean, swoop, soar.”
“Lean, swoop, soar,” said George. He sat on the sill, legs dangling out.
The wolves were growling louder now.
“Are you quite sure,” he said, “that they…WOOOOOOO!”
Aided by a hard shove from Molly, George slipped off the windowsill. For a moment, he hung motionless in the air, his eyes and mouth wide open in wonderment. Ever so slowly, he began to drift downward. The wolves moved into position directly beneath him.
“Lean,” said Peter.
The wolves rose on their hind legs, jaws snapping. George was now staring at them, as if hypnotized.
“George!” shouted Molly, climbing onto the sill. “Lean!”
George remained motionless as he drifted down, his dangling feet now only a few feet above the wolves’ jaws.
He’s not very bright, is he? observed Tink.
Peter darted to George and grabbed his arm; Molly slid off the sill and grabbed his other arm. Together they swooped him away, then up, the snapping jaws just missing his shoes. As howls of frustration echoed behind them, the trio, with Tink flitting ahead, soared into the moonlit sky, chill night air rushing past their faces.
“George,” said Molly. “Are you all right?”
George, having torn his eyes away from the rapidly receding wolves, was now looking up, gazing with wonder at the clear night sky, at the moon and the stars he had studied for so many hours, squinting into the eyepiece of the telescope in his room in London. Now, as he rose above the trees, with the open sky spreading to the horizon all around him, he felt as though he were part of the heavens, as though if he reached his hand out he could touch the moon itself.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m…it’s wonderful, Molly. Wonderful.”
“Good,” said Molly. “Now which way is Stonehenge?”
“Stonehenge?” said George.
Not very bright at all, said Tink.
“Yes,” said Molly, struggling to be patient. “We’re going to Stonehenge, remember?”
“Ah,” said George. “Right. Stonehenge. Let’s see. The river’s over there.” He looked around the sky. “And there’s Ursa Major, so Polaris would be…Ah, there it is. So we want to go…that way. How does one turn?”
“One leans,” said Molly. “Like this.” She leaned and swooped left, followed by Peter and Tink.
George gave it a try and, after wobbling a bit, executed a passable left turn. “Brilliant!” he said.
“Now what?” said Molly.
“Up ahead there,” said George, pointing, “will be a village.”
“I think I see the lights,” said Peter, squinting toward the horizon.
“That will be Amesbury,” said George. “From there we can follow the road. It’s only about two miles from the village to Stonehenge.”
“Let’s go, then,” said Molly, leaning forward. “We need to get there before the starstuff wears off.”
“It wears off?” said George.
“Oh, yes,” Molly called back. Even as she spoke, she was aware of a slight weakening of the starstuff’s power. “Lean, George!” she shouted.
Then, more to herself than anyone else, she added, “We haven’t much time.”
CHAPTER 93
A RAVEN’S EYE
THE RAVENS STOOPED atop the ancient weather-scoured gray stones, their gleaming, beady eyes darting in every direction. Every few seconds the largest of the birds fixed his sight on two distant pinpricks of yellow—the windows of the cottage where Ombra waited.
For hours the ravens, restless yet infinitely patient, had watched the empty grassland. Then one of them saw it—a faraway movement no human eye would have detected.
Caw! came the alert. Then again, Caw! Caw!
The others saw it now: tiny shapes, a rider and a wagon approaching on the road from the village.
The large raven flapped his wings, roiling the still air with a shudder of feathers, and lifted into the sky. It grew smaller, an occasional caw marking its progress toward the dim lights of the distant cottage.
Nerezza, dozing in a chair, sat up with a start, awakened by scratching at the cottage window. Carrying a dripping candle, he walked stiffly toward the sound, his back sore from the long carriage ride.
He pulled back the curtain and jumped: there stood a large raven, head sideways, big black eye pressed toward the glass. Nerezza, furious at himself for being scared by a bird, raised his fist to bang the glass.
Then he felt the chill just behind him.
“Let him in,” groaned Ombra.
Without turning around, Nerezza fumbled with the latch and got the window open. His candle’s flame danced as the bird hobbled inside and ruffled its feathers. It faced Ombra, suddenly still as death.
“The candle,” said Ombra.
Nerezza breathed heavily, his nose whistling, as he brought the candle close to the bird’s left side, so its shadow was cast on the windowsill. The raven made no effort to avoid the flame. Ombra raised his right arm and touched the shadow.
“Two men,” Ombra groaned. “One on horseback, one driving a wagon. On the village road.”
Ombra withdrew his hand. The raven, with a loud Caw! flapped off.
“Just two of them?” said Nerezza. He immediately regretted speaking, as Ombra turned to face him, his empty hood gaping.
“If that is Aster,” Ombra said, “as I believe it is, it makes no difference whether he has one man with him or a hundred. He is in possession of immense power, Captain; far more than we have. We have the element of surprise, and we have his wife. But we must not underestimate the power he has. Is that clear, Captain?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Summon the men, and have Slank bring Mrs. Aster. We leave immediately.”
“Yes, my lord.”
In a minute’s time they gathered in front of the cottage: Ombra, Nerezza, and Slank holding the limp arm of the vacant-eyed Louise Aster. They were joined seconds later by a half dozen men, two of whom carried rifles. They set out across the grassland, Ombra gliding effortlessly ahead. The men had to trot to keep up with him; Slank was practically carrying the passive Louise Aster.
They approached Stonehenge from the southwest, directly opposite the entrance from the village road. Ombra chose a path that took them past several ancient burial mounds, keeping them out of sight of the road.
Twice the large raven fluttered to a landing on Ombra’s shoulder, then took off again. The second time, Ombra turned and gathered the others around. Speaking in a barely audible moan, he said: “They will arrive soon on the far side of the stones. Just ahead is a ditch. You will conceal yourselves in it and await my orders.” He pointed to the two men with rifles. “You will position yourselves on either side of me. Mister Slank, you will keep Mrs. Aster close at hand.”
The men, ghostly silhouettes in the moonlight, moved forward into the shallow ditch that surrounded Stonehenge. The large raven fluttered forward and joined the other sentries atop the ancient stones.
For a moment, the night fell silent.
And then, from the distance, came the gentle clippity-clop of approaching horses.
CHAPTER 94
THE RETURN
ASTER AND MAGILL approached the great stones from the northeast, climbing the gently rising hillside where Stonehenge was erected thousands of years earlier by people unknown, for reasons unknown.
As the two men drew near the tightly grouped arrangement, they began to see its various elements clearly in the brig
ht moonlight.
Most dominant from the outside were the sarsen stones, standing in a circle one hundred feet across, each stone thirteen feet high and seven feet wide. Some were still supporting horizontal stones, called lintels, though most of those had long since fallen. Within the sarsen stone circle were the remains of another circle of smaller stones, known as bluestones, about six feet high, many of them now toppled or missing. Inside the bluestone circle stood the mighty trilithons, each made of two huge vertical stones, only a few inches apart, supporting a lintel. At one time there were five of these structures, the tallest standing twenty-four feet high. Three were still intact.
The entire grouping was surrounded by an ancient ditch, forming a circle more than three hundred feet across. On the northeast side of this ditch was an opening, which led out to the road. Standing next to the road, far from the main grouping, stood a lone sarsen, sixteen feet tall. This was known as the Heel Stone. It was here that Leonard Aster halted his horse, signaling for Magill to stop the wagon behind him. The men studied the main stone grouping. They saw nothing unusual, other than some dark birds perched atop the central trilithons. Aster’s eye lingered on the birds for a moment, as he realized they were ravens.
Like the ravens at the Tower, he thought. Odd.
Seeing no other humans, Aster signaled to Magill, who uttered a series of soft barking sounds. Instantly the wolves emerged from the field. Five took up sentry positions along the road; the sixth began a slow surveillance around the perimeter of Stonehenge.
Aster and Magill rode forward toward the main stone grouping. At the break in the ditch they came to the Slaughter Stone, a massive sarsen slab lying on its side, its uneven surface marked by hollows that, some said, once collected the blood of those who were sacrificed on it. Here Aster dismounted, tying his horse to a shrub. Magill climbed down from the wagon and removed the canvas covering. With a growl, Karl, the enormous bear, rose and clambered down from the wagon bed. He picked up the dark trunk and set it gently on the ground.
Aster opened the cloth sack. He removed a golden helmet, which shone like fire in the moonlight, and set it on the wagon bed. Next came a pair of golden boots, followed by a pair of golden gloves and a golden suit, both fashioned of a thin material that flexed like cloth.
Aster glanced up at the moon and frowned. The left side of the moon’s surface was distinctly darker than the right. It was not the sharply defined darkness that appeared on the sun in a solar eclipse, but the gradual shading of the lunar eclipse.
“It’s starting,” Aster said. He quickly shrugged off his coat and removed his boots, then began putting on the golden suit.
Magill watched unhappily.
“Wish you’d let me do this,” he said.
“I appreciate that, Magill,” said Aster. “But it’s too dangerous.”
“I could take Karl out there with me,” said Magill. “Never seen the danger Karl couldn’t handle.”
Aster smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid even Karl is no match for what’s in there,” he said, pointing to the trunk. “Somebody has to open the trunk when the eclipse reaches totality, and the moon is dark. Whoever that is has to be wearing this suit. Anybody else…any thing else…would die instantly.”
“But some has withstood it,” said Magill. “I’ve heard that.”
“That’s true,” said Aster. “Every once in a great while somebody comes along who can tolerate starstuff in large quantities.” He thought of Peter and his unwitting exposure back on the island—an exposure that gave him the power of flight, and agelessness, and…nobody knew what else. “But that’s a very rare quality,” he continued. “I doubt that more than a few people on Earth could survive being exposed to what’s in that trunk. Could you give me a hand with these gloves? They’re rather snug.”
In a moment, with Magill’s help, Aster was clad from neck to toe in the gleaming gold suit. He looked at the moon again; the shadow had deepened and broadened, and the moon now had a pronounced reddish hue.
“All right,” he said to Magill. “I’ll take the trunk in now. When the Return begins, the light may attract somebody from the village. You must not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to enter the stone circle. Nor must you or any of the animals enter. No matter what you see, or what you hear, once the Return has begun, you must stay away.”
“What if there’s trouble?” said Magill. “What if you need help?”
Aster laid a gold-gloved hand on Magill’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he said softly. “And if I’m not, there’s nothing you, or anybody, can do.”
Aster put on the gold helmet. It covered his head and neck entirely; it had two holes in front, each covered with a fine gold mesh, which protected his eyes but enabled him to see quite well. With the helmet snugly in place, Aster bent and grabbed the trunk—which was much lighter than its bulk suggested—and hoisted it easily to his shoulder.
“Wish me luck,” he said, his voice a bit muffled by the helmet.
“Good luck,” said Magill.
With that, Aster turned and began carrying the trunk toward the heart of Stonehenge.
The wolf slowly circled the outer edge of the ditch, ears erect, eyes searching, nose sifting the thousands of scents drifting in the night air. As the wolf reached the southwest side of the ditch it stopped. Just ahead, in the moonlight, a dark thing rose from the ditch. The wolf sniffed. The thing had the silhouette of a man, but it did not smell like a man. It did not smell alive.
The thing oozed out of the ditch and toward the wolf. The wolf growled and bared its teeth. It was not so much afraid as puzzled; it could not understand why the thing was not warned off by the growl, the bared teeth.
The thing came straight at the wolf. The wolf lunged, jaws wide. It snapped at the thing. The jaws caught nothing, except a sensation of cold, as though they had tried to bite a winter fog. The wolf stumbled awkwardly, confused, having anticipated resistance, but finding none. It regained its footing and turned to snap its jaws again.
Too late.
Molly knew the feeling well.
“It’s wearing off, Peter,” she called.
They had passed over Amesbury and were flying along the road to Stonehenge, now clearly visible ahead. They were still about two hundred feet in the air, but Molly could feel the ground pulling on her, gently but relentlessly. The same was happening to George, but he was happily oblivious, swooping this way and that with a smile the width of his face, occasionally declaring to nobody in particular, “Brilliant!”
“Can you reach Stonehenge?” said Peter.
“I don’t know,” said Molly, looking ahead. “It’s going to be close.”
“It would be a good thing if you could,” said Peter, pointing at the road.
Molly looked down and saw three…now four wolves loping directly beneath them, looking up.
They look hungry, said Tink.
“What did she say?” Molly asked.
“She said we’re almost there,” said Peter.
Ombra stuffed the scout wolf’s shadow into the burlap sack. The shadowless wolf sat looking up at him, motionless.
Ombra spoke to it, not in a human tongue, but in guttural sounds.
You saw nothing, he said. Go.
The wolf trotted off, continuing its circuit of the stones, taking no notice as it passed the group of humans crouching in the ancient ditch. A few moments later the wolf was out of sight. Nerezza and Slank had their eyes on Ombra, who stood with his hood pointing upward as if listening for something.
There was a flutter of wings, a black shape flickering in the dark. A raven landed on Ombra’s shoulder. It leaned its head toward the hood, holding it there for a few seconds, then fluttered into the air and was gone.
Ombra moved close—uncomfortably close—to Nerezza and Slank. He spoke in a low, barely audible groan: “A man in a gold suit—I assume it is Aster—is carrying a trunk toward the center of the circle.”
“Do we take him?” whispered Nere
zza.
“We move in,” said Ombra. “But carefully. If he sees us, or hears us, he has the power to destroy us in an instant.”
Nerezza and Slank exchanged glances: was there a hint—just a hint—of fear in Ombra’s voice?
“Single file,” groaned Ombra. “Riflemen behind me. Be ready to fire on my command. Mister Slank, bring Mrs. Aster. Captain Nerezza, you and your men will follow Mister Slank. Silently.”
The men stood. Slank pulled the limp form of Louise Aster to her feet. Ombra turned and glided across the open area toward the central grouping of stones, moving slightly to his right in order to take a path that kept him hidden from view by one of the massive outer sarsen stones. Reaching this stone, he signaled for the others to halt behind him. Ombra flattened himself against the stone and slid slowly around it, looking less like a living thing than a random moon-cast shadow.
Just ahead, providing excellent cover, was a smaller standing stone, a remnant of the inner bluestone circle. Ombra oozed back and beckoned the two riflemen forward, positioning one on each side of the bluestone. From here they had a clear view of the central trilithons.
With the riflemen in place, Ombra oozed forward into the bluestone’s shadow, where he became essentially invisible. There he waited.
He would not have to wait long.
Leonard Aster moved slowly, stopping every few feet to sur vey the area. He had seen nothing, and expected to see nothing. Had there been intruders, he was confident that Magill’s wolves would have detected them. Still, he was cautious.
He had passed through the outer sarsen circle, then the inner bluestone circle. He was now approaching the central trilithon stones, some towering high above him, others lying on the ground, where they had fallen unknown centuries ago.
Aster’s objective was the Altar Stone, a huge slab of sandstone lying on its side, broken in two, now embedded in the ground and almost entirely covered by fallen pieces of what had once been the tallest trilithon. Reaching this jumble of broken stone, Aster stopped and gently set the trunk down so that its wood touched an exposed corner of the altar stone. A raven fluttered past, so close that Aster ducked involuntarily. He looked up at the moon. It was now almost fully engulfed in shadow.
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