Dance of the Stones (16 page)

Strengthened, Equus rose to his feet. “Little lark,” he said,
“you are the smallest of the inhabitants that fled the Place
Beyond Morning, yet you are the first one back. Why?”

The lark paused in its song and tipped its head on one
side. “You have found Magic Children,” she answered, “and
the shadow lightened.”

Equus looked sadly across the ruins toward the mist
hanging over the land he loved. “The shadow has deepened
again.”

“Every time I sing, it thins,” replied the lark and opened
its throat. Out spilled a trill so beautiful, the air shimmered
with light and the edge of the mist retreated.

Gladness filled Equus. “You are right, little lark. You
shame me. The shadow has no power over true innocence.
We shall both sing away the dark and welcome back the
light.”

Equus threw back his head and sang with the bird. His
deep voice expressed his fears and sang of his desires. His
voice roared in defiance and sweetened with hope, and the
little lark trilled its song around his.

Finally the song was ended. With renewed heart and
mind, Equus leaped for the stars and rode the winds toward
Gaia.

*   *   *

Holly tiptoed past Owen's bed, bent over Adam and shook his shoulder.

He grunted.

She held a warning hand gently over his mouth. “Shhhhhh.” She placed her lips nearer his ear. “Adam, it's time to go and save the Mother Tree. The rally's this morning.”

Adam's eyes flickered and he frowned. He sat up looking rumpled and distressed. “I've hardly slept.”

Holly sighed. “Me too.” She squared her shoulders. “We couldn't stop Ava dying, but I'm not going to let the Mother Tree be destroyed. Are you coming or not?” she finished in a fierce whisper.

“I'm coming.” Adam looked across at Owen, curled in a tight unhappy ball. “It's not going to be much fun around here.” He rolled out of bed.

The two cousins pedaled one behind the other down the sunlit road. It was still before seven, and though the birds had been singing for hours, only a few cars passed them. The morning light was so bright that the world looked newly polished, and the wind in their faces smelled clean and fresh. Their spirits lightened.

Adam pumped his legs faster and drew level with Holly.

“What's your plan?” he yelled.

Holly flashed him a grin. “A ‘sit-in' up the tree.”

Adam laughed. “Oh boy! For how long?”

“As long as it takes,” said Holly firmly.

*   *   *

Chantel pushed her cereal around her plate.

“Are you feeling all right?” asked Aunt Lynne.

Chantel smiled weakly. “I'm fine. Just not very hungry.”

“There's something going on again, isn't there?” Lynne's sudden attack caught Chantel by surprise. “It's not like Owen to sleep in late,” she continued. “And where are Adam and Holly?”

“They've g . . . g . . . gone for a bike ride,” muttered Chantel. She fingered the note in the pocket of her shorts. She'd promised Holly she'd leave it somewhere for Auntie Lynne to find. But it was still too early. Holly had insisted not before nine o'clock. “I don't want Dad driving down the highway to pick us up,” she'd said. “So wait!”

Chantel waited, checking the clock every five minutes.

“How could they go off without telling us?” Lynne tutted crossly. “Holly certainly knows better than that!”

Chantel felt guiltier and guiltier. She wandered into the kitchen and washed her dishes, then took refuge in the bedroom.

*   *   *

Despite the sunshine, Owen huddled under the bedcovers. He didn't care if he lived or died. Ava was dead. The knowledge carved a deep hole inside him, a hole as big as the universe. He wished he could fall through it to oblivion.

*   *   *

The church clock struck nine.

“Finally,” sighed Chantel with relief. She straightened her bed, turned and stuck the note between the pillow and rumpled quilt of Holly's unmade bed. Auntie Lynne would be sure to come in and fix it.

She reentered the kitchen. “Can I go read in the Stone Circle?” she asked.

Lynne nodded. “If you see Holly and Adam, tell them I want to speak to them.”

“Okay,” said Chantel uncomfortably. She limped out as fast as she could.

*   *   *

Holly and Adam hid their bikes among the ferns and crept through Savernake Forest.

Though they had made good time, they were far from the first protesters there. Over fifty people had gathered. Some hung around in the car park and others were striding determinedly along the road toward a parked yellow bull–dozer in a lay-by.

“Darn,” said Holly, spying out the land from behind a bush. “I was hoping we'd be here first. We need to get up the tree without anyone seeing us.”

“No one is in the forest,” pointed out Adam. “They're too busy discussing chaining up the bulldozer.”

“Good. Let's go to the Mother Tree before they notice us.”

Holly dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl through the bracken. Adam followed. The journey was rough and uncomfortable and they were scratched and covered with burrs and grass stains by the time they reached the edge of the Mother Tree's thick tangle of roots.

“Stay here,” whispered Holly. “I'll find out what's going on.”

She disappeared into the bracken again.

Adam gazed in awe at the twisted black trunk ahead.

“Holly was right, you really are old!”

*   *   *

Holly crawled to the edge of the high bank and peeked over.

A sea of heads, some bald, some with flowing curls, some sporting hats, caps and head scarves, milled around on the road below. Snatches of conversations floated up.

“ . . . take it in turns to lie in front of the bulldozer.”

“ . . . I don't agree. No chains. No vandalizing.”

“ . . . remember . . . peaceful protest.”

A police car edged its way up the road and parked behind the bulldozer. The crowd turned to watch and a scatter of boo's were heard.

Holly withdrew and crawled back to Adam. “Everyone's busy. Let's climb the tree.” She stood up, clambered over the roots and swung herself up into the branches.

Adam followed.

*   *   *

Chantel sat with her back against one of the stones, her nose buried in her book. A shadow fell across the pages. She looked up.

“Mum found the note,” said Owen. “She's on the cell phone to Dad.”

Chantel sighed. She moved over.

Owen flung himself down. “It was awful, Chantel. I don't know what to do.”

“Me neither,” whispered Chantel. She knew he wasn't referring to Holly or Adam. “Equus won't answer. What if something's happened to him too?”

They looked at each other with haunted eyes.

*   *   *

Adam and Holly straddled a large branch within the umbrella of green leaves. Adam's eyes were wide. He pointed to the mistletoe.

Holly nodded. She leaned forward and stroked the trunk. “Hello, Tree,” she whispered. “We've come to help.”

“I bid you welcome, young Holly Berry.” The tree's voice was a faint rustle. “You bring a friend?”

“My cousin, Adam.”

“Welcome, Adam.” A green leaf brushed his cheek.

“Er . . . thanks.” Adam shifted on the branch. This was getting awfully weird.

“I've lots to tell you,” Holly whispered, her mouth close to the tree bark, “but I don't want anyone to hear.”

“Mindspeak,” whispered the tree.

Holly made herself comfortable. She leaned her back against the main trunk and closed her eyes, organizing her thoughts to tell the tale of the acorn, the wraith and Ava's death.

Adam watched, torn between embarrassment and envy.

*   *   *

“Now, now, what's going on 'ere then?” The policeman, accompanied by a workman in overalls, strolled down the road toward the group of protesters.

“You knows as well as I, Dan Pierce. It's bin in all the papers,” retorted one of the protesters.

The policeman grinned. “I 'ave to ask though, don't I, William Blythe? You might all just be passing through. Taking a walk like.”

“I'll tell you what ain't taking a walk. That there bull–dozer,” shouted someone from the back of the crowd.

“Is that so?” The policeman leaned casually against the offending machine. “Now, why's that?”

“Because we're going to stop it, that's why!” shouted a woman waving a placard declaring
TREES YES! ROADS
NO! COUNTY COUNCIL GOT 2 GO!

She pushed her way to the front of the crowd and waggled the placard in the policeman's face.

He gently moved it aside.

“Oh, give over, Daniel Pierce. You don't like the clearing of the old trees any better than us. Your missis signed the petition,” said the man called William Blythe.

“That's as may be, but my job's the law.” The policeman surveyed the crowd and spoke slowly and clearly. “You all have a right to protest. Freedom of speech, we call it. But you are required to stand on the side of the road and allow other citizens to pass by.”

The protesters made a line along the road.

“And Doug Metcalfe here has a right to go to his place of work.”

The man in overalls climbed into the cab of the bulldozer accompanied by shouts of derision. He switched it on. Several people from the crowd moved to stand in front of the bulldozer's blade. Doug switched it off, sat back and took a pack of sandwiches from his pocket.

The policeman nodded his approval. “Now that's what I call a civilized protest. Remember, don't block the road. I reckon there'll be some right interesting citizens passing by.”

The crowd laughed.

“I'll be watching from my car as requested. Call if you need me. Morning all.” The policeman strolled back up the road.

The man in the bulldozer offered a sandwich to the nearest protester.

*   *   *

Adam nearly fell out of the tree. “Did you see that, Holly? And the cop? Are they all like that over here? Where's his gun?”

Holly opened her eyes. “Give me a break. He doesn't need one. He knows everyone.” She sat upright. “What's that?”

A series of ominous rhythmic bangs came closer and closer. Both children lay along the branch and peered through the leaves. A contingent of riot troops, rhythmically pounding their shields, marched up the road. A roar of disbelief rose from the protesters.

*   *   *

Deep in the forest, the wild boar stirred restlessly. His peaceful refuge was invaded. The hated human smell hung strong in the air around him. He snuffled and grunted, his tiny eyes darting angrily toward anything that moved.

A dead branch trembled in a fitful breeze.

The boar charged, trampled and gored until the branch lay in smithereens. He stood over the pieces, sniffing uneasily.

Then the banging started.

*   *   *

Adam clutched Holly's arm. “Who's declared war?” He stared down in horror at the advance of armored men. “This only happens in movies . . . Why are they here? No one's done anything bad.”

A stunned Holly shook her head.

In perfect rhythm the riot troops marched up the road and made a line below the tree, their featureless masks facing the protesters.

There was a deadly silence.

The protesters inched back. They had no stomach for this. Protesting the cutting of an ancient forest was one thing, but facing riot troops was another.

“AT EASE,” roared a voice. The troops relaxed their stance and pushed up their helmets to show the sweaty faces of the local constabulary.

There were angry shouts from the protesters and a surge forward.

The troop captain stepped out, his hand up.

“HOLD IT,” he roared.

Everyone froze.

“Apologies if our outfits scared you. We're on a training exercise. Not too much chance to train for crowd control in this neck of the woods.” He paused, waiting for a chuckle from the crowd.

The protesters stared stonily at him.

The troop captain cleared his throat. “So since we're required to attend your protest, we thought we'd kill two birds with one stone and save taxpayers' money.”

Someone snorted derisively.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
An insistent drumbeat interrupted him.

An entire brass band marched up the road.

Oh when the protesters, come marching in
, everyone sang at the top of their voices.
When the protesters come
marching in.

Oh I want to be in their number, when the protesters
come marching in.

The trombonist gave an extra twiddle on his instrument as the band marched past the police car. The policeman double-tooted the horn in reply. The riot troops moved over to make room.

“I tell you, everyone in England's mad!” said Adam with conviction.

Holly laughed.

*   *   *

The wild boar was terrified. He could identify most forest noises, but these sounds he'd never heard before. They hurt his ears, and a strong human smell came with them. It was time to defend his home. Head down, he began to charge through the bracken toward the noise.

*   *   *

The delegate from the county council arrived in an official car, followed closely by the van from the local TV station. He stepped out, straightened his tie, smiled at the camera and launched into a prepared speech. “I would like to reassure you…”

“BOO! SHAME ON YOU!” shouted voices from the crowd.

“…that your county council is aware of the delicate balance between preservation of our natural areas and the need for progress…”