Rob was stiff with tension.
“There are seven fortresses in that world.” Vetch’s voice was strained. “Seven caers, each stronger, deeper inside. She may be too far in for me to reach her. He would take her from castle to castle.”
The circle was half formed. The music lost static, became a single voice. Miles and eternities away, it sang.
A bulb in the corridor flickered. Somewhere in the building a window banged. Rob moved instantly, across to the door, but there was no lock. He stood with his back pressed against it. “Hurry,” he gasped. “Hurry.”
“I can’t.” Vetch’s hands were shaking; sweat gleamed on his forehead. “Can’t hurry this.”
Three parts of the circle were formed. As the poet’s long fingers slid the twigs in, he seemed to be pushing against great pressure, as if the tiny henge resisted formation; then the poem swelled and receded, a burst of nonsensical, delirious words. “Shining bright star… I fight, I struggle … grass and trees are hastening, hurrying; see them, far traveler, wonder at them, warrior, call upon your god, on the saints of your god…”
A chant like a spell, beating and rhythmic. Other sounds were wound in it; he realized they were the bleeps and beats of the monitors, Chloe’s pulse and heartbeat, forming the syllables.
“Save us from rage … from the anger of the trees, the onrush of branches, a thousand princes, the hosts of the enemy…”
Vetch pushed the last but one twig in. The circle was black. It sang in electric pulses and a girl’s voice, high and clear.
“The enchanted trees, the magic forest, its battle-line comes, we fight it with the music of harps…”
The last sliver. He held it tight, moved it down. It touched.
All the monitors spat.
Rob gasped.
Chloe’s eyes flickered.
Instantly all around the room, alarms screamed. A gust of rain billowed the curtains. Rob flung himself forward. “She moved! I saw her move!”
“Help me!” Was it Vetch who said that? There were leaf shadows all over him, on the ceiling, the walls. The wires of the machines were curling like roots.
Rob grabbed the poet’s shaking hands. Together they held the sliver steady, brought it back, guided it into place, forced it down. The circle was closed.
Chloe jerked. She gave a great gasp. Outside people were running, shouting; the door burst open.
“Keep them back!” Vetch yelled in fury; grabbing her arms, he dragged her up, off the pillow. “Chloe! Climb out! Climb out to us!”
“Willows,” she breathed. “Blackthorn…”
The henge slid to the floor, rolled. “I summon you,” Vetch commanded. “I call you back! Chloe!”
“Oak … the King…” Over his shoulder, she looked at Rob.
The light snapped on. “No!” Rob howled, but he was shoved aside by frantic nurses, a doctor, Sister Mary.
“No! She’s waking! He’s waking her!”
A great hand held his shoulder like a clamp. “What in God’s name is going on here?” Mac whispered furiously behind him.
Vetch was held tight by a security guard. He looked haggard and worn out.
Half off the bed, Chloe lay crumpled, eyes closed, her shining hair a mess.
The doctor turned. “Get out of here,” he raged. “Before I have you thrown out! Father, do you know this man?”
Mac glanced at Vetch. Then he growled, “Yes. Calm down. He hasn’t hurt her—”
“He could have killed her!”
“She was waking!” Rob was shivering with anger and despair. “She was almost awake … she looked at me—”
“Impossible.” Hurriedly, the doctor checked Chloe’s eyes, her breathing.
“You heard the alarms....”
“The monitors must have been disconnected. I think we should call the police.”
“There’s no need for that,” Mac snapped.
Vetch smiled wearily. “Do what you want,” he said, his voice hoarse. Then, as if it was a great effort, he lifted up his left wrist. “But if nothing happened,” he whispered, “how do you explain this?”
Chloe’s fingers were curled tightly in his.
She was holding his hand.
M. MUIN: VINE
“Why?”
It was all I could stammer out. I was shaking, furious. “I saw Rob! He was there through the trees! Why are you keeping me here!”
He slammed the bar across the shutters. Snapped ends of vines curled on the floor.
“I’m sorry, Chloe,” he gasped, “but it’s for your own good, believe me. The forest is a terrible thing, relentless. It might destroy us both.”
“Rubbish!”
He grabbed my arms. The secret stairway was in the wall; as he pulled me toward it, I shoved him, and he fell against the wall.
I was so angry I screamed. Then I tore off his mask.
O wise druids,
do you prophesy of Arthur?
Or is it me you dream of?
Father Mac came back into his sitting room and stood in front of the empty fireplace. “Want to tell me about it?”
It wasn’t a request. Rob was silent. Then he said, “I had no idea he could do anything like that. I thought he just wanted to see her....”
“Your sister is some sort of exhibit now?” It was hard and it hurt, but Rob was too tired and drained to be angry.
“No.” He turned. “You saw! She had hold of him. Her eyes were open; she spoke. If they hadn’t stopped him…”
“She might be awake, yes. Or she might be dead. The sister said the readings had gone through the roof. Heart, blood pressure.” Seeing Rob close his eyes, Mac came around and sat on the greasy leather armchair. His voice softened. “Don’t worry. She was stable again before we came away. What exactly did he do?”
“Sang.” It was the only way Rob could explain, though he knew the words had been more a chant than a song, and Vetch hadn’t spoken them. He lifted his head, hopelessly. “And made a circle of pieces of wood, with letters on them. Like the henge.”
Mac rasped his stubbly chin. “I told you to stay clear of him. He’s not … safe.”
Rob looked up. “How?”
“I can feel a power in him, though I’m loath to admit it. Something old. Ancient. Whether he means well or not I don’t know. I do know that he ought to be in the hospital himself; I’ve seen more sick men than most, and he’s one. Serious, I’d guess.”
They were silent a moment. Then Mac leaned back, creaking the chair. “Is he homeless?”
“Not sure. Probably.”
“You’d both better stay over. Phone them at home.”
When he did, there was only his father there; Rob said he would be staying at Mac’s. “Fine, you carry on.” His father’s voice sounded preoccupied. “No one else is here. Your mother’s stuck in London. I’ll have Maria’s pizza all to myself.”
Putting the phone down, Rob stared out at the dim horizon of the downs. The whole family was falling apart. As if Chloe had been some central pin, holding them tight around her, and now there was no center, no focus. As if they weren’t strong enough on their own.
When Vetch came downstairs he looked pale, the mark on his forehead more noticeable. His hair was wet, and slicked back, as if he’d splashed water over himself. He sat quietly at a table by the window, still in his dark coat.
“You’re both staying here tonight,” Father Mac said gruffly.
“Thank you. But—”