Darkhenge Read Free Page A

dimmed, the tourists in the great circle of stones began to seep away; coaches pulled out of the parking lot, cars full of tired kids turned toward home. The clouds that had gathered earlier began to thicken again; no one would see the moon rise through those, Rob thought acidly. Suddenly tired of sketching, he dumped the pastels in the tin and lay back, gazing up at the darkening sky through a haze of small dancing gnats. He should go home too. Maria would be gone by now. No one would be there at all. His mother would be at the nursing home with Chloe, and Dad still at the theater. It would be safe.
    But he didn’t move. The grass was lumpy; its discomfort nagged at him, but the effort of getting up was too great. The August day had been hot and humid; it seemed to have robbed him of all energy, and the twilight gathered as he lay there, the shadows of the stones lengthening vaguely in the purple light. Birds sang in a rowan bush. On the road the cars hummed, quieter than before.
    He rolled his head. The rainbow people were still waiting.
    For an instant then a flicker of the memory of the girl on the horse troubled him and he sat up, breathing the sandalwood mustiness of incense. He had no idea of the time, but it must be nearly seven because the group was getting ready, standing, calling the children together. A man started beating a small drum; the pulse of sound throbbed over the rough grass.
    Rob looked around. Everyone else had gone. Apart from him, Avebury was empty.
    Spots of rain began to darken the red cover of his sketchbook; he thrust it into the bag. He realized he was waiting around in curiosity to see no druid appear, to see the rainbow group’s disappointment. The red-haired girl glanced over at him; then she and the others joined hands, crooning a low chant of three notes, over and over.
    They were like people who predict the end of the world, he thought. Always sure, always waiting. Part of him smirked. But part didn’t. The part that was desperate for a miracle since the accident.
    Rain pattered. He pulled out his rain jacket and dragged it on, but the Barber’s Stone kept the wind off, so he crouched there. There was no sign of the moon, just an ominous gray expanse of cloud, a wind flinging rain. The downs were blotted out. The night would be stormy.
    The Cauldron people looked cold. They kept up the chant, but the wind whipped out their hair. Two of the kids gave up and ran off toward the tents. The red-haired girl looked again at Rob.
    He met her eyes; she glanced away, spoke to another woman, who turned and stared at him too.
    The church clock began to strike seven.
    The group stood, expectant. He saw they had planted pennants and flags with symbols in the grass: a crescent moon, three cranes on a bull’s back, a leaping salmon. A lot of the tribe were looking over at him now; Rob grabbed his bag and scrambled to his feet. Suddenly he was alarmed. Surely they couldn’t think… Did they think it was him?
    He turned, but the red-haired girl said, “Wait! Please!”
    Rob froze. He spun around, embarrassed, wanting Dan. They were coming toward him, the tousled children, the man beating the drum, the frowsy women, even the dogs.
    The red-haired girl was anxious, her voice taut. “We’re waiting for someone. A being of great power, from far away, born again from the Cauldron. We know he’s coming here, at this time, when all the stars are in alignment. There is a word we’ll recognize him by, a secret word.”
    â€œIt’s not me!” Rob stumbled back. He raised his hands, shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t know anything about stars. Still at school, me.” He sounded stupid. He wanted to sound stupid.
    Four strokes of the clock.
    The people studied him. For a heartbeat he knew they despised him, doubted him, weren’t sure. If Dan was here it would have been all right. Dan would have made it all into a huge joke. But the girl’s