Darkhenge Read Free

things, always cold. The eternal puzzle of why they were there kept his mind from accepting them; the faces he imagined in their profiles were sinister, and their lichen-splotched leanings, their seamed and root-holed salmon and cream colors were too strange.
    He tossed the pencil down and lay back. The sky was spattered with cloud, its gaps blue.
    â€œYou could find this dig,” Dan said after a while.
    â€œWhy don’t you?”
    â€œI’ve already got a job.” He looked over. “They might pay you.”
    â€œDon’t need the money.” It was boasting, but true.
    Dan snorted, because during the holidays he spent most afternoons in the back room of the Lion washing glasses and wiping tables for a pittance.
    â€œIt’ll keep you from thinking about things.”
    They were silent, Rob stricken again by the glimpse of the girl on the horse, and Dan worried too, probably, because he wriggled out from the vast stone and rolled over. Rob had a sudden premonition that Dan was working himself up to ask about Chloe, whether there was any change in her condition; they both knew it was a forbidden topic, so he said quickly, “God. Just look at this lot.”
    A colorful group was trooping through the wooden gate, probably from the tents and benders that were always pitched in the tree clumps at the foot of Green Street. There were about a dozen of them, men and women with a few young kids, dressed in the usual dippy mix of camouflage gear and washed-out tie-dye. They came and stood in a circle around the next stone but one, choosing the spot carefully, circling it, tossing out handfuls of herbs. Then they joined hands and sang. Dan snorted in scorn. But then, this was Avebury. It happened all the time.
    Their ritual finished, the group sat down. A girl began to talk; the others listened.
    â€œPlace is crawling with weirdos.” Dan sounded restless.
    â€œYou should know.”
    The girl speaker wore a purple skirt and a rainbow vest and her hair was short and red. She spoke clearly, and Rob listened, rolling after the pencil and making quick sketches of her on the corner of a page as she said, “Matty’s drawn up the charts, and the stars are right. This is the day, and all the lines of power intersect on this very spot. I’m so glad you could all get here.”
    â€œThey’re cracked,” Dan said darkly. “They think aliens make crop circles, when it’s my uncle Pete’s friend’s brother from Winterbourne Bassett.” He looked at his watch and pulled a face. “I’ve got to go. I’m on the evening shift.”
    Rob nodded, drawing the backs of the people. He pulled the backpack over, searching for the pastels. “See you tomorrow?”
    â€œProbably. Come over anyway.” Dan dragged himself up and loped off toward the pub, then turned and walked backward, pointing a threatening finger. “Get that job. Why should I be the only one to suffer?”
    Rob grinned. He smoothed a few strokes of turquoise down for the back of a shirt. As he worked, the girl’s words held his attention.
    â€œWe’ve known for months something was happening, that someone is coming here. Long prophesied, long expected. A great soul, one of the Cauldron-born. A walker between the worlds, a sorcerer and a druid. We’ve done a lot of work, and we’re sure he or she will be manifested here today, in the sacred circle. Matty thinks at seven o’clock exactly, when the moon rises over Silbury. So the plan is to meet them with joy.”
    â€œWhat if they’re not in human shape?” someone asked.
    The girl looked unconcerned. “They will be. We all know how powerful this place is. Our desire will draw them here, and they’ll be what we need at this time.”
    Rob grinned. Dan would have loved this.
    They waited. They lit incense sticks and lay on the grass and talked; a few seemed asleep or meditating. As the evening