Darkhenge Read Free Page B

look was desperate with hope. “Please look into your heart,” she whispered, coming up to him. “Look into your heart and choose a word. Any word. It might be the one we know. No one else is here but you. It could be you, without your knowing.”
    It was crazy. He licked his lips, rain running down his hair. There was nothing to say, no word, no sound he could make that would satisfy them, but he had to say something, get away, break this circle of rain and faces and the insistent, terrifying clock crashing out the chimes, so he made himself whisper a word and the word that came out was Chloe.
    The girl looked startled.
    The name fell into huge silence. The bell stopped, and the drum. The only sound was the storm, stinging them all with its horizontal rain, whipping the girl’s skirts, a gale that roared over the downs and hurled itself at the high grass banks, streaming in through the ancient gateways, around the leaning, silent stones.
    And as if blown here by its fury, a bird fell from the sky.
    It plummeted, a tiny swallow, exhausted, crashing into the grass beyond the top of the bank, and straight after it, talons down, a hawk shrieked, but the rain blurred and the bird was gone and the claws grabbed only mud.
    The girl gasped. “It’s him,” she breathed. “He’s coming!”
    Wind roared. Out of the flattened grass something shot like a bolt. Rob saw a hare hurtle along the top of the bank, its great back legs thudding, and out of the place where the hawk had come down, the rain re-formed into the swift outline of a slim dog that solidified as it streaked in arrow-straight pursuit.
    The hare’s eyes were wide with terror. Remorselessly the greyhound sped after it, teeth snapping.
    The girl turned. “He’s in trouble! Make the horseshoe!”
    The hare leaped. It flung itself down the crippling slope into the ditch, falling and tumbling. Behind it the dog shape skidded, sending chunks of chalk flying.
    The girl pushed Rob. “Help him!”
    He had no idea who she was talking about. The group formed a hasty semicircle around the stone, open ends facing the deep ditch. They clutched hands; the drum began a rapid patter, and two men dragged the colored pennants up and rearranged them frantically, thrusting the pliant sticks into the ground, the thin silk flapping and slashing into streamers, red and gold as flames.
    The hare crashed into the bottom of the ditch. Rob threw himself on his stomach, wriggled to the edge and looked down.
    The ditch was flooded. Through its rain-spattered surface he could see grass, weeds, an object that became a fish. The fish dived deep with a flick of its tail; in the same instant the dog entered the water with an almighty splash.
    Its shape streamlined with bubbles, lengthened, shivered. An otter sleeked by, its round head glistening.
    â€œNow!” the girl screamed.
    Rob scrambled down the slope; flung his hand into the water.
    He caught something. Cold and slithery, scaled and slippery.
    A fish.
    It flexed, tightened, slid into a cold, soaked grip.
    Fingers.
    To his astonishment he realized a man was looking up at him, struggling out of the water. Rob held tight, clutching the grass.
    Soaked, breathless, the man heaved himself up, his eyes dark with exhaustion. He coughed, grabbed tighter. “Is that you, Prince?” he whispered.
    The sleek rain-slashed pelt of the otter leaped. Its snarl was ferocious.
    â€œInto the circle!” the girl yelled at Rob.
    Rob pulled. The man made a desperate scramble and flung himself up the sheer wall of grass. He almost slid back; then Rob was stretching, hanging on with both hands. The stranger grabbed, a firm wet grip; Rob hauled and the man dug his feet in, clawing at the tussocks of grass. Above them the streamers crackled and burned; now they really were flames, their smoke whipped away by the wind, and the otter shape curled and slithered back down into the ditch, the sparks of