“Just outside.”
“Lucky. This is such a special landscape.”
He said nothing; Rosa glanced at him in the mirror. “I expect you think we’re a bit crazy. We’re not really hippies, you know. I’m a medical student. Meg’s a mum. All the group come from different places, some from Europe. This is the first time we’ve met.”
He wasn’t interested but he said, “Because of dreams?”
She shrugged. “No ordinary dream. It was incredibly vivid. I was walking in the sea, ankle deep, and there was this beach and I had it all to myself. The sky was gray, as if it was going to rain, and there was a wind whipping my coat out. It wasn’t like a dream. I could feel it.”
He nodded. The car droned up the sudden, steep side of the Marlborough downs.
“Then I looked into the sea. And I saw the sand wasn’t grains at all but letters, tiny, tiny letters. Billions of them. All the same. D.”
“D?”
She laughed. “Weird, or what? So I put it on the group Web site. The other messages came back almost instantly. Nine of us had had the same or a similar dream. With some it was in a wood, or in a room or a building. But there was always one letter of the alphabet that was featured. So we put them together. They made the word Vetch knew.”
“Darkhenge,” Rob said. And as he said it he went cold with sudden realization and dismay. “Darkhenge!” He bit his lip. “I think… Do you know what it means?”
“Hang on. We’re picking him up here.”
A bridle path. Like the rest of them it came down from the Ridgeway, the ancient road, distant here, high on the crest of the downs. As soon as the car turned in and the engine was switched off, the silence of the wide country surged through the open windows. Megan opened the passenger door and swung her legs outside, looking up the track. “Here he comes.”
Vetch was walking toward them. He still wore the dark clothes, despite the heat of the afternoon. On either side of the white track the fields were drifting acres of golden crop, the wind causing shivers that changed shade and tone. The sky was vast, a dome of blue air.
Vetch waved. Rob heard the scuff of his boots, saw the dust of the chalk rise. He climbed out of the car and leaned against it, waiting.
The dark-haired man came up and stopped. “I told them you’d be back.”
Rosa gave him a bottle of water; he opened it and drank gratefully, looking up at the crest of the downs. “I’ve always loved this place,” he said quietly. “It’s very good to be ending things here.”
“Listen.” Rob was uneasy. “What does Darkhenge mean?”
Vetch drank again. Then he stoppered the bottle deliberately. “I think you already know that, Rob. What’s more, I think you’ve seen it.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.” Vetch looked up at him quickly, eyes dark. “It’s down there in the valley, isn’t it? Near the river. I can feel it emerging. I can feel it coming back out of the earth.”
The two girls were listening intently. Rosa said, “The whole group ought to hear this.”
Vetch nodded. “Agreed. But does Rob want to come?”
He shrugged. He did and he didn’t. If Dan saw him with this crowd he’d never hear the end of it.
“Shall we go?” Vetch gestured at the car. He had long, rather delicate fingers.
Rob stood his ground. “How did you know I’d seen it?”
Vetch came past him and opened the car door. He sat wearily on the hot leather seat, propped one foot up on the dashboard, and drank again, smiling out at the fields of barley.
“A little bird told me,” he said quietly.
The
Crane-skin
Bag
U. UATH: HAWTHORN
We traveled all night, through the forest. The carriage bounced along rough tracks. The forest was dark and the trees crowded close, and far back there was some sort of murmur, as if the wind blew, but not here.
I got the feeling he wanted to apologize, but he never spoke. He kept looking back, over his shoulder.
Then there were lanterns in the trees. “This is it,” he said. “The second caer. You’ll be safe here, Chloe.”
I wish he’d take that silly mask off.
Terrible the anger of the goddess who pursued me.
They drove down to Avebury in silence, apart from the drifty music, then turned up Green Street through the great opening in the bank and pulled in under the trees. The lane was quiet and leafy. As Rob had expected, a few tents were pitched in the copse, the smell of a fire acrid in the heat.
“Are you all camping out here?”
Rosa laughed. “Most of us like a little more comfort. I’m in a B and B. Some have camper vans and things.”
He looked at Vetch. “What about you?”
The man smiled his enigmatic smile. “Never mind. Come and tell us about the henge.”
There was hot coffee; it smelled rich and tasted better. When Rosa had got everyone together, they all sat around drinking and looking curiously at Rob. He had a desperate desire to make an excuse and go, had just summoned enough courage to do it when Vetch held up a hand for silence.
When they could hear the breeze in the leaves above them he said, “Rob has seen Darkhenge. Tell the group about it, Rob.”
He frowned. “It’s supposed to be secret.”
“Not from us. We already know.” Vetch had taken the small skin bag from around his neck and placed it beside him. His coat, Rob noticed, was worn and frayed at the sleeves.
The group waited, expectant. So he shrugged and breathed out and said, “There’s a circle, and it’s made of wood. Ancient timbers. They’re all really excited about it. They haven’t excavated very far down yet, so you can only see the tops of the posts. I don’t know how far down it goes.” He looked up. “Is that what you mean by Darkhenge?”
Vetch smiled, but didn’t answer. One of the men said, “A timber henge? Intact? That’s incredible.”
“It’s a freak, the woman told me. Trapped layers of water have preserved it. I told you, they can’t believe it themselves. The woman in charge is called Dr. Kavanagh—”
He stopped. Beside him Vetch had taken a small, sharp breath. “Clare Kavanagh?”
“Yes.”
“You know her?” Rosa asked.
Vetch scratched his cheek ruefully. “Once I knew her.”
“She’s ferocious. If she thought I was telling you—”
“Don’t worry, Rob.” Rosa tapped his shoulder. “There’s no one here who’ll say it was you. You have no connection with us.”
“Unless someone sees me.”
“How long will it take?” One of the men, Tom, was looking at Vetch. “For them to dig it out?”
The poet shrugged. “One, two weeks. The timbers will need to be kept wet; they’ll have to work quickly. Clare won’t waste time. It will be cleared, and then … removed.”
“Removed?” Rosa looked appalled. Vetch glanced at her, his star-shaped scar bright in the sun. “I’m afraid so. Archaeology, in the end, is destruction. To discover what the henge is, to find its date, the way it was made, they will break it down. Once open to the air it will rot, so they’ll feel they must preserve it. The timbers will be hauled out and taken to some tank somewhere and treated. You know that’s what happens.”
“They should leave it where it is,” Tom growled. “Where it belongs.”
Vetch spread his fine hands. “Indeed, it would do them more good. Because the things they will learn are useless things. What does a date mean? Time circulates in our minds, nowhere else. The purpose of the henge lies in the place it is and the thing it is. The henge is a gateway. It can’t be unlocked with spades.”