

Darkmoor

by Mark Hawkes

Copyright 2013 Mark Hawkes

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Also by Mark Hawkes at Smashwords.com:

Island Dragon

To Lord Dunsany, for taking us beyond the fields we know.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter One

Meredith leaned, arms crossed, on the chipped, white-enameled railing of the ferry, relishing a foul mood that even the beauty of her surroundings could not dispel. The glinting waves, the hovering gulls, the rugged browns and greens of the island looming ahead; none of it seemed to register on her. She stared right through it all, wallowing in the kind of deeply rooted anger that takes years to cultivate. Behind her Brian, her younger brother, hopped and staggered about the car-deck using his nylon jacket to catch the wind like a sail.

"Hey, Mer...look!" he called, in his annoying twelve-year-old's voice.

"Get a life, you loser!" she replied without turning around.

"Get a life, get a life, get a life...." he mimicked as he pranced and capered about her like a demented ape. He was careful to stay just out of reach.

She took a swing at him anyway. "Get lost, you little jerk!"

"Meredith! Both of you come back to the car: the ferry will be docking soon!" Her mother's voice made her wince inwardly. She was leaning out of the driver's window, dark sunglasses over a slash of umber rose lipstick, beckoning with one hand.

Brian took this in, and then favored Meredith with a grotesque face. "I get the front seat!" he shouted before dashing off.

Meredith rolled her eyes toward the cloudless summer sky and sighed heavily. With an affected shake of her shoulder-length brown hair, she reached into the pocket of her low slung jeans and pulled out a pair of designer sunglasses. She was especially fond of them: her father had given them to her last year for her thirteenth birthday and she thought she looked particularly cool in them. She put them on and slouched back to her mother's red Accura.

When she got to the car, of course, her brother was already ensconced in the front seat—as promised. He smiled smugly at her. She gave him a look that would have peeled paint, and swung into the back. She picked up her smartphone, popped in the ear buds and started listening to her music.

The car crept off of the ferry and onto Gabriola Island. It was the height of the summer tourist season and the waterfront was humming with activity. Everywhere people wandered, pushed bikes, or waited impatiently beside their cars in the ferry line-up that stretched out of sight up the hill. Children and dogs charged randomly through the parking-lot.

The Accura moved quickly on past the White Hart pub and up the road that led inland. There, Meredith's aunt and uncle lived in retired bliss on five wooded acres that included a duck-pond.

"Mom, do Aunt Carol and Uncle Kyle still have Molly?" Brian suddenly asked. He had first met Molly the border collie when she was only three months old and had instantly fallen in love. The feeling was mutual. His aunt and uncle had lived in Victoria then, and he had spent hours playing with Molly whenever they visited. Unfortunately, early retirement three years ago had resulted in a move away from the city, and no opportunity to visit had presented itself since.

"Yes, sure they do...bet she'll be happy to see you! Meredith, did you remember to pack your sunscreen?"

Meredith, engrossed in her music, was blithely oblivious to her mother's question.

"Meredith!"

That got her attention. "What?" she asked, annoyed.

"Turn that thing down—do you want to go deaf, for God's sake? I asked you if brought your sunscreen."

"Yeah, yeah." She left the volume where it was.

"Good. Now don't forget to use it. You too, Brian."

Her mother was an attractive woman in her early-forties, with short honey-blond hair that would have been tinged with grey if it wasn't for a little help from a bottle. As a successful Vancouver real estate agent, she was normally lavishly made-up and impeccably dressed. Today, however, she was on vacation, and she was wearing minimal make-up, a tee shirt from Maui and a pair of white shorts.

"Look! A deer!" shouted Brian, as he pointed to the trees on the right of the road.

"Three, actually," added his mother, matter-of-factly. "The island's full of them. Best time to see them is early morning or at twilight. Maybe you can get a picture of one, Meredith...Meredith!"

Meredith removed one ear-bud. "What?"

Her mother shook her head and sighed. "Never mind."

Before long they pulled into a curving gravel driveway that wound its way into the heart of a heavily-wooded property. The driveway emerged from the trees into a cleared area where there stood a very comfortable-looking cottage. The cottage was nestled in a luxuriant garden bursting with colour and filled with flitting birds and diligent bees. Off to the left and down a gentle slope was a gleaming duck-pond complete with an armada of mallards happily preening and dipping for bottom-dwelling delicacies.

This tranquil scene was disrupted by a sudden flapping of wings and frenzied quacking as another group of ducks came scrambling into view along the grassy shore, a black and white blur lunging and surging at their rear. It was Molly the border collie practicing her trade, head down and eyes intense.

Brian leapt out of the car. "Molly! Here girl! Here Molly! Com'on girl!" he called, excitedly.

The dog froze, its head snapping around towards them before recognition dawned and she dashed up to greet them, her paws barely touching earth. In an instant she was all over Brian in a frenzy of licking and wagging. They tumbled to the grass in a writhing, giggling mass.

"Brian! You'll get grass stains!" complained his mother half-heartedly, as she got out of the car, arms full of purse and bags. Of course, he ignored her and continued to play with the dog.

Meredith stepped out of the car, regarding the cottage and grounds with grudging approval. "Hey, this place is kinda cool," she allowed.

"Marilyn! Welcome!"

Aunt Carol had appeared on the verandah and now rushed forward with open arms. A large woman with an equally huge smile, she embraced her sister exuberantly and stood back to look at her.

"You look great! And the kids—have they ever grown!"

"Thanks, Carol. You're looking good, too.....Kids, say hello to your Aunt!"

Brian shrieked something in between giggles and Meredith grunted "Hi," without looking over.

"Molly, that's enough! Here!" Carol called.

The dog immediately disentangled itself from Brian and trotted over to her mistress's side. She sat down and looked up at Carol expectantly, tongue lolling.

"Good girl." Carol said, absently ruffling the dog's ears.

"Where's Kyle?" asked Marilyn.

Carol gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh, he's still out in the boat: he's determined that we'll have fresh salmon for dinner. I told him it would be easier just to buy one at the market, but you know that stubborn male ego...." They both laughed.

Finally, Carol clapped her hands together and said, "Well, come on inside everyone—lunch is waiting!"

Marilyn turned to Brian. "Bring in the rest of the bags, will you Bri?"

"Aww, Mom...how come Meredith doesn't have to..."

"She'll bring in her own. Don't start with me."

"Oh, all right..." he muttered as he headed for the trunk of the car.

By the time lunch was finished and the last chocolate macaroon had disappeared down Brian's gullet, Uncle Kyle arrived home proudly bearing a six pound Pink salmon. He displayed it to everyone as they sat relaxing on the verandah.

"Well, it won't set any records," he admitted, "but it'll make a good feed for the five of us—oh, sorry Molly: six of us." Kyle was a tall man, over six feet, and built like an athlete. He had a dark, bushy mustache shot through with grey, as was his unruly hair.

"I'll go back out tomorrow morning and see if I can do better. Wanna come, Brian?"

"Sure!" Brian answered enthusiastically, his eyes wide.

"How about you, Meredith?" Uncle Kyle asked.

"Ha!" laughed her mother. "You won't see her out of bed before ten!"

Kyle pursed his lips. "Well, we do start a little earlier than that, say about...six?"

Meredith grimaced, "I don't think so. Thanks, but no thanks."

Kyle shrugged as he headed inside to the kitchen. "You don't know what you're missin', kid."

"I'd like to keep it that way."

"Mom, can I take Molly for a walk?" asked Brian, suddenly.

"You'd better ask your Aunt."

"Oh, sure, Brian. Though I think it'll be the other way 'round: Molly knows every square centimeter of territory out there, and she's laid claim to it all. Just don't step into any wasps' nests--they've been particularly bad this year, and stay away from Old Danton's property behind us."

"Old Danton?" asked Marilyn.

"Yeah. He's a crazy old coot, you know: the eccentric type. He's got quite a reputation amongst the kids on the Island: they're scared stiff of him."

"Is he dangerous?" Marilyn asked, concerned.

Carol shook her head quickly, "No, no. I'm sure he's harmless. It's just that he's sort of mysterious, you know: a real hermit—people hardly ever see him. He's lived here as long as anyone can remember, and that goes back a way, what with some of the old-timers on this island. Sort of a Howard Hughes type, I suppose. He's got a pet crow."

"Really? Cool." Brian was already intrigued and impressed.

His mother gave him a warning look, and then turned back to her sister. "But how does he survive? Is he rich?"

Carol laughed. "Heavens, no! He's quite good a woodcarving: sells his work to the craft shop. I guess it pays the bills."

Marilyn looked skeptical. "Well you stay clear of him, Brian, you hear?"

"Yeah, yeah," he answered, half-heartedly. "See ya! Come on, Molly!" He dashed out across the yard towards the duck pond, the dog quickly out-distancing him.

"Don't be late for dinner!" his mother called after him.

Brian and Molly swept past the duck pond, scattering indignant mallards as they went. Onward they surged, across the wide expanse of cut lawn and into the meadow beyond. Molly's back rose and fell amongst the tall grass like a dolphin leaping through a golden sea. Brian laughed as he ran, sucking in sweet gulps of fresh summer air, while grass and weeds whipped, unheeded, across his bare legs.

"Wait up, Molly!" he gasped. "Slow down, girl!"

The dog paused long enough to glance back over her shoulder but, satisfied that her companion was still following, quickly set off again.

High overhead, a red-tailed hawk circled patiently in the sharp sky, watching. Brian paused for breath, and raised one hand to shade his eyes as he squinted upwards. He envied the hawk its ability to fly, a feat that had always fascinated him. His room at home was cluttered with kites, model airplanes, and even a hot air balloon painstakingly fashioned with glue and tissue paper.

A single, sharp bark brought him out of his reverie; Molly was standing a short distance away with her back to him. She was staring at something ahead of her in the grass. Her tail was raised over her rump like a standard and her hackles were slowly rising up.

Brian frowned and began to move closer, peering into shadows between the stalks of coarse grass. "What's the matter girl? What d'ya see?"

As if in answer, the dog began to growl low in its throat.

For an instant, Brian thought he saw something olive green and black, like some kind of mottled and leathery-skinned animal, but then it vanished into the tall grass.

Molly shot forward. With a shout, Brian ran after her. All he was able to see of her was an occasional glimpse of her back as she bounded, but the white tip of her tail whipped about like a banner rallying him on. In the excitement of the chase he was oblivious to the sharp-edged grass and occasional thistles that lashed and pricked his legs as he plunged on.

They wove an erratic course through the field, drawing ever nearer to the shadowy woods that bounded the property. Brian was breathing hard and sweating in the heat of the afternoon sun, which seemed to rebound in waves from the light-coloured ground. Through squinting eyes he saw a dark, gangly creature bolt out of the grass and into the underbrush at the edge of the trees. It had covered the rocky expanse in between in three agile leaps. Molly did it in two.

"Molly!" For the first time, Brian began to have doubts about the wisdom of this chase. He'd never seen an animal like that before; what if it was dangerous? And those trees looked kind of spooky...hadn't his mother said something about an old man he was supposed to stay away from?

But he couldn't just let Molly run off: what if she kept running until she got lost? What if the creature attacked her, or something?

He plunged onward, oblivious to the "NO TRESPASSING" sign nailed to one of the trees.

The cool of the woods enveloped him like a blessing. The light here was suffused with a greenish glow and the scent of vegetation filled the still air. The trees were mostly big, old Douglas Firs and twisted, peeling-skinned Arbutus. Salal, huckleberry, and sword ferns filled up most of the space between the trees, but there were narrow wildlife paths winding here and there.

Brian spotted Molly's tail disappearing down one of them.

With a renewed burst of energy he dashed down the trail, ducking, dodging, and flinging branches aside as he went. Despite this, because the ground itself was fairly even and softly carpeted with fallen fir-needles, he was able to run faster than he had in the meadow. Of course, this was true for Molly too.

All Brian could hear was the rasping of his own breath and the thumping of his runners on the trail. Everything began to take on an unreal, dream-like quality and time seemed to slow down. His lungs ached and he could feel his pulse pounding. His body was aching to stop—begging him to stop. He began to think that maybe he should take a little break...just to catch his breath.

Then he burst into the clearing. It contained a small pond with rocks, rotting logs, and moss. In the fraction of a second it took him to register all of this he also saw the fleeing creature dart to the edge of the pond, hop from a rock, to another rock, to a half-submerged log where it turned and cast one brief, but altogether chilling, glare back at Brian. Then, even as Molly came crashing through the water in pursuit, it dove beneath the mirror-like surface.

Molly followed after it an instant later, ducking her head completely underwater in a vain attempt to locate her quarry. Finally, dripping and dejected, she clambered back onto the shore and came squirming up to Brian, her tongue lolling.

"Good girl", he said patting her wet fur. She licked his hand.

He crept closer to the water, peering for some sign of the vanished creature. The water was brown and brackish, although not overly deep. Water-striders skittered away as he approached and mosquito larvae convulsed their way back down to the muck on the bottom. Brian stepped onto the log and inched his way out along it, extending his arms for balance. Back on the shore Molly whined softly.

Brian looked over at her. "Its okay girl, don't worry—that thing's gone now," he said, more to reassure himself than the dog.

He looked back down at the water and there, just below the surface was a scowling, leathery face. The eyes were slit and yellow, and the snarling mouth was rimmed with needle-sharp teeth. Brian yelped and nearly fell in, his arms pin-wheeling wildly as he struggled to regain his balance. He staggered half-falling, back along the log and leapt to the shore where he was bowled over by a relieved Molly. They struggled briefly until the dog finally sat back on her haunches and allowed him to sit up and stroke her chest.

"It's okay, now girl...everything's okay now," he sighed.

A deep, resonant voice came from behind him, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

Brian craned his head around to see a tall old man standing a few meters behind him. On his shoulder perched a soot-black crow, its head tilted so it could regard Brian with one beady eye. The man had long white hair and a flowing beard to match. He wore an ancient pair of faded overalls, a stained undershirt and in one gnarled hand he gripped a heavy staff that was even taller than he was.

He looked mad.

"You don't have a TV?" Meredith asked, incredulously. Her jaw stopped chewing the wad of gum and just hung there for a moment.

"Meredith!" her mother protested, "Don't be rude!"

Aunt Carol shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Sorry, kid, but your Uncle and I gave up the habit when we moved out of the city. Oh, he thought about getting a satellite dish at first, but saner heads prevailed...." she reached out and gave Kyle an affectionate rub on his shoulder. "Besides, it gives me more time for my painting, and Uncle Kyle can do more fishing."

Kyle feigned a wistful look. "Yeah, just think of all the time I would have wasted watching football, baseball, hockey...."

"But I'm bored! There's nothing to do around here!" Meredith remained whined.

"Maybe you should have gone with your brother," her mother stated, flatly.

Meredith looked at her with disdain. "Yeah, right: like I want to spend my summer following that little geek around while he plays boy scout."

"Meredith, it's only a few days, not the whole summer. Now that's enough, I don't want to discuss it any further."

"But the summer is practically over, already!"

"Meredith, I said that's enough! You can just take that attitude of yours outside—I don't want to listen to it anymore."

"You don't want, you don't want: that's all that matters, isn't it?" Meredith shouted as she stomped toward the front door. She turned at the threshold and snapped, "Why couldn't you just have gone off somewhere with your stupid boyfriend and left me at home?" With that, she flung open the door, stepped through, and let it slam dramatically behind her.

Meredith strode away from the cottage, heading nowhere in particular, driven by self-righteous fury. She wound up down by the duck pond, under an ancient, overhanging willow tree. She picked up a rock and threw it petulantly into the water, frightening several ducks in the process. A faint twinge of remorse pricked her as she realized she could have injured one. Without further warning, she burst into tears, and sank to a crouch at the base of the tree, her face buried woefully between her knees.

She was still sobbing when she heard a footstep beside her. She looked up through bleary eyes and a tangle of hair. It was her Uncle Kyle. He walked right past without glancing at her, or speaking. Instead, he crouched down at the waters edge, drew back his right arm, and with a sharp snapping motion sent a flat stone skipping across the pond.

"Eight skips—did ya see that? Pathetic. There was a time I could get twenty-two, if the conditions were right and the stone was a good one. Funny isn't it, how things change—no matter how much ya don't want 'em to, they just go ahead and change anyway. Sometimes it seems like every time you start to get used to somethin' it up and changes again...and then there's the stuff ya wish like hell would change, and it never does! Go figure...." he lapsed into silence, shaking his head.

Resentful of the intrusion on her misery, Meredith muttered thickly, "I'd rather be alone, if you don't mind."

Without turning around, her uncle skipped another rock. "Whoa! That was better—had to be eighteen at least! Gets hard to count there, towards the end, but it had to be at least that. Maybe I've still got the old magic after all." He turned then and winked at her archly. "What d'ya think?"

Meredith gave her hair a toss to get it out of her eyes. "I said I don't feel like talking right now."

He arched an eyebrow. "Izzat so? Well, I'm not so sure about that. You look like someone who could use a good listen. Let me tell you, I'm one heckuva listener: comes from talking to myself so much, I suppose. Heck, if I didn't listen to myself, who would?"

Meredith sniffed and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "What about Aunt Carol?"

He shrugged, "Yeah, I suppose she listens, but does she really hear? You know, that happens sometimes when two people have lived together for a really long while: they get to know each other so well, that they think they know everything that the other person is going to say or do. It happens really slowly, but one day they wake up to find they've become strangers—like happened with your mom and dad." He turned away and tossed another stone.

There was a moment of silence and then Meredith said, quietly, "That was her fault."

"Meredith, it's nobody's fault...sometimes it just happens."

"No. She drove him away. She was too busy with her stupid real estate: open houses, meetings with customers, closing deals...that's all that mattered—matters—to her."

Uncle Kyle slowly turned around to look directly into her eyes. "It's a terrible responsibility to become the judge of others," he said, softly, "you have to be able to see into people's hearts and minds, to know their most private hopes, and dreams, and fears. And before you can understand theirs you have to face your own..," he shook his head. "It's not easy to be fair, especially when you're caught in the middle of the whole mess."

Like a fragile soap bubble, the moment ruptured.

"She wasn't fair! And I said I didn't want to talk about it!" Meredith shouted as she jumped to her feet and fled back to the cottage, leaving her nonplused uncle behind with the ducks.

"Well, boy, don't just stand there gulping like a fish out of water—what do you think you're doing on my land? Thieving? Or shooting, more likely; it was one like you that shot out poor Roc's left eye...isn't that right, my friend?" The old man reached up and stroked the crow under its beak. It closed its one good eye in pleasure.

Brian shook his head earnestly. "N, no...Not me sir. I was just trying to catch my dog...she ran off after this little green creature—it was nasty: all leathery and warty and—anyway, she wouldn't stop and she chased it all the way here and then it jumped into the pond and..."

"Enough!" The old man raised his hand. His eyes had narrowed to slits at the mention of the creature. "Say no more for the moment. Especially no more 'and's' at the very least. Come with me and we shall discuss this matter further...."

Brian took a step backward. "No, I'm not supposed to do that."

The old man looked back over one shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Most wise, under normal circumstances, but I can assure you, boy, that these circumstances are anything but normal. Now, come along: no harm will come to you—I swear it upon my honor."

With that he turned and began to make his way along a path that led deeper into the woods.

"But...." Brian stayed where he was.

The old man stopped and turned around again, the look of annoyance returning to his craggy face. "I am not used to having my word questioned, boy." He paused a moment to consider the situation. "But then, I don't suppose you have any real reason to trust my word, do you? Well, do you trust the judgment of your dog, at least? What's her name...no, don't tell me: it's 'Molly', isn't it?"

At the sound of her name, Molly cocked her head, and then leaped forward exuberantly to be petted. The old man made a subtle gesture with his hand and she immediately sat, looking up at him expectantly. He bent down a placed his hand on her head. She wagged her tail and licked him. He looked up at Brian. "See—she trusts me, now, won't you?"

With a sigh and a shrug, Brian gave in.

They made their way along the path for only a few minutes before it emerged into a small clearing near the crest of a hill. The ground here was bare rock peeking out in patches from under a blanket of dry moss. Perched in the middle was a ramshackle house with rickety stairs leading up to the verandah. The weathered grey wood had nearly divested itself of paint, which appeared to have been white at one time. The roof sagged under the weight of the moss that clung there, and the thin curtains that hung in the windows were yellowed and water-stained. The front yard was brown and overgrown.

The old man noted Brian's skeptical examination of the house and said, "Well, what were you expecting, a palace?"

Brian started, guiltily. "Oh, no...it's not so bad: a little paint would fix it up fine."

The barest hint of a smile crossed the old man's face. "So, we can add 'accomplished liar' to your list of crimes, I see. Well, I suppose you can't help your upbringing. Come along inside, I'll see if I have anything in my cupboard for a boy and his dog."

Once again Brian hesitated, but Molly bounded up the stairs and stood waiting to be admitted into the house. The crow flew up to the roof and perched on the edge of the gutter like a gargoyle.

The interior of the house was cool and fragrant with the pleasant, library-like odor of dusty books. The rooms were small and cluttered, but overall in much better shape than the exterior of the house. The old man conducted Brian and Molly into what looked like the den, and then he bustled off to bang and clatter about the kitchen. He left the staff leaning in one corner of the den. Brian crept over there for a quick inspection. It was very smooth, as though from years of handling: the wood was dark and polished. Small knobs jutted out periodically along its length and its head had been carefully carved into the shape of a snarling dragon. He reached out to touch it and was shocked to discover that the wood seemed to vibrate with faint, but potent, energy beneath his fingertips.

"Do you like lemonade, boy?" The old man's voice made Brian jump. Somehow he had reentered the room without making a sound. He stood there, behind Brian with a tray bearing a jug, two glasses, and a plate of cookies.

"Uh, yeah...sure," he gulped.

"Well then, stop poking your nose into places it shouldn't be and clear that table over there so I can put this down—it's not getting any lighter, you know."

"Oh, sorry!" Brian moved quickly, sweeping a stack of papers off the antique table that the old man had indicated.

The old man put down the tray, poured two glasses of lemonade and offered one to the boy. Then he produced a rawhide chew from one of the pockets of his overalls and gave it to a delighted Molly. She immediately curled up on the hearth rug and settled in for a good gnaw. The old man gave a soft chuckle and settled into a comfortable-looking leather armchair. He inclined his head toward Brian's drink.

"You won't taste lemonade like that just any place...I made it myself," the old man said proudly. He raised his glass in a toast. "May your dreams be sweet, and your heart be pure."

Brian took a long gulp, half-expecting it to be unpleasantly sour, but it was pure ambrosia. "Mmmm," he said, "this is great!"

The old man bowed his head slightly. "Compliment gratefully accepted. Now, I think introductions are in order...most people on the island call me 'Old Danton'—when they are being polite—and you are Brian, are you not?"

"Yeah. How did you know? You knew Molly's name too. How do you do that?"

Old Danton shrugged modestly. "Oh, it's just a minor talent of mine...like a card trick...nothing really."

"I think it's magic."

Something in the old man's eyes flared briefly at that then died back down to a smolder. For a moment he seemed lost in thought, a distant expression on his face. Finally, he snapped out of it saying, "Yes, well, be that as it may, I've a mind to hear more about your adventure just now. Have a cookie and tell me once again just what it was that you thought you saw."

"I did see it!" stated Brian, indignantly as he reached out for a cookie.

Old Danton held up his hands in gesture of appeasement. "All right then, what did you see?"

Brian made a face. "It was gross: all patchy green...like that stuff they use in the army, uh...camouflage!" He beamed; proud that he'd remembered the right word. When Old Danton said nothing, but just sat there expectantly, Brian continued. "Anyway, it wasn't very tall, a little less than a metre, I'd say, and it was shaped kind of like a monkey...a chimpanzee maybe, but it didn't have any fur. It did have a lot of spiky, wiry hairs sticking out all over, though. And it ran like a chimpanzee, too—you know, using its arms and its legs." He paused for another gulp of lemonade and some cookie.

"Good cookie," he noted with comically adult detachment.

Old Danton inclined his head again and said nothing, waiting.

Brian resumed his account. "That thing sure was ugly: it had pointed ears and a face like a bat, or somethin', and its mouth was full of shark teeth! I bet it bites."

"Yes, they do." Old Danton's voice was so quiet, Brian barely heard him, sitting only a metre away. The old man's face had gone deathly pale and the glass of lemonade shook noticeably in his suddenly palsied hand.

Brian put his own glass down and leaned forward in concern. "Are you okay, Mister?" he asked solicitously, putting a hand on the other's arm.

The old man started, as though wakened from a doze. He blinked repeatedly and composed himself with visible effort. "Yes, I'm fine...thank you. Just remembering something from a long time ago...something...rather unpleasant. But never mind, I'm all right now."

Brian relaxed. "Oh, good. Say, can I use your bathroom? I gotta go."

"Down the hall and left." The old man pointed the way. "And don't forget to flush."

Molly looked up questioningly as Brian passed, but didn't move from her chew stick.

Brian found a mahogany-paneled door with a multi-faceted glass knob. He pushed it open tentatively and stuck his head inside. The sight of an old, four-legged tub and a yellowed toilet with a black seat confirmed that he had the right place. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

There was a thread-bare burgundy bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and a collection of socks, undershirts and other items dangling over the curtain-less shower rod. The tub was white enamel with chips like black scabs here and there; a permanent green-blue stain was tattooed where the faucet dripped unrelentingly. A tube of toothpaste and a worn brush lay on the edge of the pedestal washbasin. Something was missing. It took Brian a few seconds to figure it out: no mirror. Not even one of those little round vanity ones. With a shrug, he did what he came for.

When he returned to the den, Old Danton was standing before the hearth staring thoughtfully at something on the mantel. As he approached, Brian could see that it was a small wooden box with a shiny brass hasp. Danton raised the lid and lifted a long, silver-chained pendant out. Without a word he brought it over to their table. He held the pendant up for Brian to see: it was a thin, slightly flattened disc of silver with a stylized gold dragon embossed upon it.

The old man's mood was very solemn. "Brian, though you don't realize it, you have done me a very great service today—one which I would like to reward with a small token of my appreciation and friendship. Please, I would like you to have this." He leaned forward and placed the pendant over the boy's head.

Brian looked down wonderingly at the dragon on his chest. "Wow! Are you sure it's all right? It looks real expensive."

"It is more valuable than it is expensive, but you are not yet old enough to understand the difference. Some day I will tell you the story behind this heirloom—if you will be kind enough to come and visit me again—but first I will have to spend some time remembering it, myself. Now, speaking of time, it is time for you to be getting back home: that salmon is almost finished barbecuing...."

Brian looked up at him in amazement, his mouth working soundlessly.

Old Danton shrugged again. "Another small talent. Now, off with you...and you as well, Molly, my dear."

The dog reluctantly surrendered her rawhide chew and was escorted along with the boy to the front door. As they headed down the front steps, the old man called after them from the porch, "See that path across the way there? Hold to that and you'll be home in no time, but don't take any of the branches, do you hear?"

Brian waved happily. "Yes, sir!" He held up the pendant: it flashed blindingly in the late afternoon sun. "And thanks!"

With that, he bounded off down the pathway for home, the border collie ranging before him.

The old man watched him go. For all of his "talents", he had no idea whether he would ever see the boy again.

Meredith was in her room getting ready for dinner. She sat at the foot of the bed, head down, brushing her hair. Her mood had improved somewhat: at least she didn't have to share a room with her geek brother, and there was an actual bed, not just a sleeping-bag. Maybe this trip wasn't going to be so bad after all; Brian and her uncle would spend most of their time out fishing, and her mother and her aunt would be preoccupied with gossip and domestic chores. It was beginning to look like they might all just leave her alone, and that was exactly what she wanted.

She tilted her head and looked toward the bureau which featured a huge oval mirror. Her hand froze in mid stroke and her eyes went wide with shock. A wrinkled face was watching her avidly from the murky depths of the mirror. It looked like a little old man with a huge nose and single gold earring in one of its pointed ears. Its blunt teeth were snaggled and crooked, its brows bristly.

The scream that had been struggling up out of her fear-constricted throat finally broke free. The face in the mirror wavered, like a reflection in a pond that has been disturbed, and then it faded away altogether. In its place was the image of an attractive, but terribly frightened, girl.

The bedroom door burst open and her mother lunged into the room. "Meredith! What's wrong?" she gasped.

Meredith looked to her mother, then to the mirror, and back again. Her mouth worked wordlessly. Finally, she sputtered, "N, nothing...I...I just snagged my hair."

Her mother gave her a narrow look, but chose not to question her further. "Well, for heaven's sake, don't scream like that—you'll give someone a heart attack! Now hurry up, dinner's on the table."

"What about Brian?"

"I'll deal with Brian. You just get your own butt out here." With that she left, closing the door behind her.

Meredith sighed as the tension drained from her body. She slumped there on the bed, eyes closed, afraid to open them in case the creature had returned. Was she going crazy? Maybe it was a trick of the light...no, she had really seen something. It was like something out of a movie with a Roman numeral in the title, or a Stephen King novel. She shivered. Maybe sharing a room wouldn't have been such a bad idea, after all...but no, that was for babies!

She put her hairbrush back in her cosmetics bag and hurried from the room, consciously avoiding looking at the mirror. At the door she paused, went back in, scooped a sweater out of her open suitcase and threw it over the mirror. With a grunt of satisfaction, she went to dinner.

As he approached the cottage, Brian paused to remove the pendant from around his neck. Initially, he had intended to show it off to everyone, especially Meredith, whom he imagined would be sick with envy. But then he remembered that he had been instructed to stay away from the old man—if his mom found out that he'd had lemonade and cookies with him, she'd freak! The pendant would have to remain his little secret—for now, at least. He tucked it carefully away in his pocket.

Following his nose and Molly, who was doing the same, he swung around to the back yard where he found his Uncle Kyle finishing up with the barbecue.

"Well there you two are. We were just about to send out the search party!" He gave Molly an affectionate pat. "You made it just in time, pardner: dinner's ready." He gave Brian's scratched and dirty legs a critical look. "I suggest you get yourself washed up a bit first, though," he added.

Brian continued on into the cottage and almost collided with his mother who stood back and stared at him, aghast. "Where have you been? Just look at you! Really, Brian, you're not five anymore. Get cleaned up before your dinner gets cold." She shook her head and exchanged a look with Aunt Carol as Brian scampered off. "Kids!" she said, in exasperation. "How did you get off not having any?"

Carol laughed. "Oh, I've got one big one," she jerked her thumb at Kyle out on the patio, "and that's enough for me!"

They both headed for the dining room.

When dinner was done and the dishes all washed and put away they played some Scrabble for a while, as twilight fell. Brian demanded, and got, a campfire and the requisite marshmallows. Afterward, once the adults had retreated indoors to escape the smoke and the mosquitoes, he and Meredith sat in silence, staring into the dancing flames. Brian poked absently at the coals with his marshmallow stick, now blackened and smoldering. They both jumped when an owl hooted nearby and again when something rustled out in the bushes and Molly growled softly, her hackles bristling. They glanced nervously at each other, and then settled back to staring at the fire.

Finally, Brian couldn't stand it any longer. "Something weird happened to me today, Mer," he said, half-expecting a sarcastic response.

Meredith stiffened. "Really? Did you see something in the mirror?"

Brian gave her a puzzled look. "Huh? What do you mean...did you?"

Meredith looked away. "Maybe."

Brian considered this for a moment. "Well, I did see something, but it was in a pond...but there's much more to it than that."

"I thought I saw a face in my mirror...it was probably nothing."

Brian leaned forward eagerly. "What did it look like?"

She told him. He shook his head. "Nah, that's not what I saw, mine was green. But it had pointed ears like yours."

She looked at him sharply, thinking he was mocking her.

He realized his mistake and corrected with, "I mean, pointed ears like on the one you saw."

Satisfied that he was earnest, Meredith said, "So tell me the whole story, then, and slowly so I can understand you."

When he was finished she whistled softly, and then gave him a hard look. "So help me, Brian, if you are making this up I'll...."

"I'm not!"

"Show me the pendant."

"Sure, it's right here." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the chain. He handed it to her. "See."

She stared at it in amazement. It caught the firelight in a way that was both beautiful and mesmerizing.

"Promise you won't tell Mom—please?" Brian pleaded.

"Okay, but tomorrow you've got to take me there," she said, handing back the pendant.

"Where?"

"To the pond, stupid...I want to see it for myself."

His eyes brightened. "Okay! Sure! And this time I'll take a net to catch that thing in!"

Neither one of them would get much sleep that night.

Chapter Two

The next morning dawned another gorgeous summer's day, though there was a certain coolness in the air in the early hours, and that unmistakable scent that hints that Fall is not too far away. Uncle Kyle was up before the sun and off fishing, a little disappointed that Brian had changed his mind about coming. Aunt Carol was out poking around in her garden and Marilyn was still in bed when Brian and Meredith bolted a quick breakfast of cereal and toast—much of which Molly ended up eating—and headed out on their mission.

Under one arm Brian carried an old salmon net that he had found in the shed. He was wearing jeans this time, in deference to his wounded legs, and a baggy black sweatshirt over his t-shirt. The usual pair of sneakers, laces flopping, adorned his feet. Once he got far enough from the cottage he put the pendant back around his neck, where it bounced and swung as he walked.

Meredith followed in his wake dressed in black stretch-pants, runners, a t-shirt and a white cotton sweater. Her smartphone was clipped to her waistband and the yellow ear-buds hung around her neck. She was silent as they strode along through the tall grass: torn between the need for an explanation of the face she had seen in the mirror and the ignominy of having to believe in her younger brother's fantasies.

Molly bounded along beside them, sometimes leading, sometimes trailing, always sniffing.

"We're almost there!" Brian called back cheerfully over one shoulder. He, on the other hand, was in a positively jovial mood; it was rare, indeed, for him to occupy the spotlight of his older sister's attention—positive attention, at least—and he was enjoying it for all it was worth. The fact that he could sense her discomfort with the situation was also gratifying. Like most boys his age, he relished an adventure, and gave little thought to the dangers that might be associated with it.

There were no hawks in the sky today, but as they reached the edge of the woods Brian suddenly pointed at an old snag ahead. "Look!" he shouted. "See that crow up there? I bet that's the one that belongs to the old man: its name is Roc."

Meredith stopped and stood with her hands on her hips, peering upward into the trees. Finally she saw the dark shape huddled motionless on a weathered branch. "Yuck, it's creepy," she declared. Then as an afterthought, asked, "Does it talk?"

Brian considered this for a moment, and then shook his head. "No, I don't think so...'least he didn't yesterday. Who knows?" He was mildly disappointed that he couldn't have answered yes. To compensate, he said, "He's real smart though; I think he understands English."

"Smarter than you, eh?" she quipped.

Brian pulled a face. "Smarter than you!" he retorted."

They stepped into the dim world of the forest. A chestnut-backed chickadee chittered at them from some low branches before it darted to higher ground. Elsewhere, a woodpecker hammered at an infested alder with machine-gun rapidity. Meredith grimaced as a spider's web dragged across her face. "Oh, gross! I hate spiders!" she protested.

Brian found this highly amusing, but had the good sense to say, "Just carry a branch in front of you so it clears the way."

With a snort, Meredith selected an appropriate branch from the forest floor, scraped off some of the moss and other detritus, and continued onward with it held out before her like a magic wand. The little goof was capable of an occasional good idea, she admitted to herself.

"Here it is," Brian announced as they arrived at the pool. It was unchanged from the previous day: dark and still—and vaguely ominous. Molly began an inspection of the surroundings, intent upon one or more scents.

"That log there is where it went," said Brian. "And then it dove in."

He walked out on the log, arms extended for balance, the net swinging in one hand. Molly elected to sit at the landward end of the log.

"You're going to fall in," observed Meredith, dryly, with some hopefulness.

"No way." Just the same, he began to choose his steps more carefully, not wanting to fulfill his sister's prediction. He peered into the brackish depths of the pond, searching for some sign of the creature. There was none.

Meredith was beginning to feel foolish. How could she ever have allowed her stupid brother to drag her all the way out here for nothing? "So where's the creature?" she demanded.

Brian shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it came out again during the night and went somewhere else." He crouched down closer to the water's surface, his pendant dangling, as though a closer inspection would reveal something more. "Or maybe it's still down there...."

Meredith rolled her eyes in disgust, shaking her head. Her gaze dropped to the muddy ground before her at the water's edge. For the first time she became aware of an impression there—a footprint—of the size and shape that a monkey would make, except that there were only three toes, and each seemed to end in a disturbingly long claw. "Brian...." she began, looking up.

The pond exploded upwards as a leathery, clawed hand shot up and grabbed the pendant. Brian gasped, his head snapping back reflexively, only to be arrested and held by the chain around his neck. For a single frozen instant he was poised there, a look a horror on his face, and then the hand yanked downward beneath the water, toppling Brian in after it. The net flew out of his hand.

"Brian!" Meredith screamed, as though that would stop him. A few surface swirls and a burst of bubbles were the only response.

Molly was the first to take action. With a single, outraged snarl, she hurled herself down the log and into the water where Brian had fallen. She paddled around in circles for a moment, and then began to plunge her entire head under. She snorted and spluttered for air, her snarl giving way to a high-pitched whining.

Meredith finally willed her feet to move and dashed into the pond up to her waist. The stick she had been carrying was left behind on the ground. The water was colder than she had expected: it seeped through her tights and into her shoes like icy tendrils. She moaned, trying not to think about what slimy things might be crawling around in the muck on the bottom. She particularly tried not to think about leeches.

As Molly continued to thrash and choke, Meredith's concern for Brian was joined by the realization that if she didn't do something soon, the dog would surely drown in its attempt to rescue the boy. "Molly! Come!" She cried.

Either the dog couldn't hear her, or chose to ignore her and continued to flail.

Meredith waded in further, dismayed at how rapidly the bottom fell away beneath her. She'd never have guessed a pond this size could be so deep.

The disgusting brown water was up to her chin by the time she was finally within reach of the dog. She grabbed wildly and was gratified to feel fur. Her fingers closed tightly on the scruff of Molly's neck and she began to haul the dog back to shore. Molly struggled all the way. Meredith dragged her onto dry land. "Stay!" she commanded.

At first it looked liked Molly was going to charge right back into the pond, but after several repetitions of the command, Molly collapsed in a sodden heap, trembling and coughing from the water she had inhaled.

Satisfied that the dog would stay put, Meredith plunged back in, her sodden sweater pulling her down. She groped about with her hands, praying that she wouldn't encounter anything leathery under there, and hoping desperately to get a grip on her brother's sweatshirt. When she reached the point where he had fallen in she was forced to tread water. She knew now that she was going to have to put her head under—there was no other way.

She took a deep breath and dove.

The deeper she went, the colder the water got. It was like a living thing—an amoeba—enveloping her and sucking her down. It forced its way up her nose and into her ears. She knew that if something was to grab her she would certainly scream, and then the water would gush down her throat as well.

There was no point in opening her eyes: there wasn't enough light down there to see anything anyway...so she had to feel her way like a sightless person. She reached and reached, but encountered nothing. Her lungs were aching for air, but she kicked and stroked for just a few more seconds, growing more desperate all the while.

Suddenly, she touched bottom.

The horror of it was so overwhelming that she almost did scream. It was soft, disgusting ooze. Mixed into it were lumpish, jelly-like objects, and the firmer, but slime-coated, shapes of fir cones and branches.

There was no trace of her brother.

Finally, her lungs would be denied no longer. Meredith thrust herself back towards the surface. She burst into the air with a ragged gasp for breath. She was dimly aware of Molly barking frantically on the shore. She allowed herself to suck in three deep breaths of air and she dove again.

This sequence was repeated time and time again until she was near to blacking out and could no longer be sure how much time had passed, or how many dives she had made. Fearing that she might not return herself were she to try again, she staggered, sobbing, to the shore where Molly greeted her with unabashed relief.

She lay gasping and sobbing inconsolably on the needle-carpeted ground for a long time.

Then she remembered the old man. Danton, Brian had called him. He must live nearby...if she could find him, maybe he could help. She wiped her eyes with one filthy, sopping sleeve and dragged herself to her feet. Molly looked up at her plaintively, wagging her tail. Meredith reached out to the dog, putting a hand on her damp head.

"Molly...find the man, Molly. Take me to the man's house," she gasped.

The dog cocked her head, her eyes bright with comprehension. She turned and trotted down the path towards Old Danton's shack.

Meredith stumbled along after her, wringing water out of her sweater as she ran. She glanced down forlornly at the smartphone on her hip: it was surely ruined...then she slapped herself mentally—her brother was almost certainly dead from drowning and here she was worried about a stupid phone. She almost lost control of her emotions again, but she fought down the feeling of panic and helplessness and forced herself to keep moving.

Her sense of time was distorted by crisis, but even so, it seemed to be taking a long time to get there. She surged around a tight bend in the path and screamed as she almost crashed into Molly and a tall old man with a crow on his shoulder. He was an odd looking codger: sort of a cross between Merlin, a farmer, and a hippie, she thought. She had screamed because he had startled her, but she was surprised to find that she really wasn't scared of him. In fact, she had the immediate sense that this man was her friend. Molly seemed to think so too: she was sitting obediently watching him as if he were her long-lost master.

"Ahhh, and you must be Meredith," he said, as if he had been waiting for her to arrive. He cocked his head suddenly. "Something has happened to Brian, hasn't it?" he said with growing concern. "Quickly, girl: there may still be time to help him."

Meredith blurted out her story, the words tumbling and stumbling off her tongue, punctuated with sobs. She felt foolish talking about little green men and half-expected Danton to start laughing at her. Instead, his expression grew graver as she spoke and he paled noticeably beneath his weathered tan.

When she finished, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She was amazed by the strength in those old fingers. "Take heart. We must hurry now to see what can be done."

With that, he strode off down the path in the direction she had come, the crow flying on ahead. He whistled once, sharply, and Molly dashed after him as if released from a spell. Meredith followed suit.

When they arrived at the pond it was deceptively still once again. Meredith shivered from more than the cold of her wet clothing. Old Danton turned to her and said, "Now, show me exactly where Brian fell in."

She nodded and stepped carefully out onto the log. She shuffled along it gingerly, suddenly aware of the water in her shoes. When she had gone as far as she dared, she pointed downward at the spot where Brian had been pulled in. "Right there," she declared.

Danton nodded thoughtfully. "All right then, now come back and let me have a look."

Meredith had a hard time imagining a man his age balancing on a slippery log in the middle of a pond, but he certainly seemed confident about it. She felt certain that he would fall in. As she made her way back to shore, her gaze was drawn to something in the water near the log. A leathery face.

"There it is!" she shrieked as she leapt the remaining distance to shore in two bounds. She stood there shaking with fear, her hands to her mouth as she rocked back and forth on her heels.

Old Danton sprang forward like a cat, still holding the staff in one hand. In the blink of an eye he was out on the log, bent over the dark water, peering into its depths. With a shout of "Aha!" he plunged his arm into the pond up to the elbow like a great blue heron striking at dinner. When he pulled his hand back it was clutching the throat of a squat, gnarly creature with leathery skin. It struggled and snarled in his grip, its legs kicking frantically. Oddly, it was wearing an old leather vest and a pair of reddish-brown pants. The pants had been patched on numerous occasions. A gold earring dangled from one, pointed ear, and a leather satchel dangled from its shoulder

Recognition finally dawned on Meredith. "That's the thing I saw in the mirror!" she cried.

Danton ignored her. He was staring in disbelief at the struggling creature in his grasp. After a moment, the creature stopped writhing and stared back at him with eyes that slowly grew wide in amazement. "Master Dante!" it managed to croak.

"Dante?" The old man looked confused, but with dawning awareness. "Yes, that is my real name, isn't it? Grub, my old friend! It's been so long! Far too long!" responded the old man as he set the creature down on the log and helped him straighten his vest.

Meredith was confused. "You mean you know this thing?" she asked. Molly stood beside her, growling.

Dante glanced over his shoulder at them as though he had forgotten they were there. "Of course!" he said, cheerfully, "This is Grub, my former man-servant."

"But he's not even a man!"

"Well, no—he's a troll, actually."

"What about Brian!" Meredith cried in exasperation.

Dante stiffened as though he had been slapped. "Oh, yes. Just a moment." He turned back to the creature and bent down closer to it. There ensued a lengthy conversation that Meredith couldn't quite make out. After much gesticulation and nodding of heads, the two of them made their way back to the shore. Molly retreated before them, growling uncertainly, her ears flattened.

Seeing this, Dante said, "It's all right Molly, Grub is a friend. Come and get acquainted." He pushed the little man forward. Grub, looking somewhat apprehensive, held out his hand to be sniffed. He tried to smile disarmingly, not an easy task with a mouth full of teeth like disheveled tombstones. Gradually, Molly crept forward and inspected the extended hand. When this moment passed without incident, they both looked relieved and within seconds Molly was wagging and wiggling as Grub stroked her head.

Dante smiled approvingly and then gestured toward Meredith. "This is Meredith, the sister of the boy I was telling you about. Naturally, she is very upset over his disappearance." The little man nodded and held out his hand for her to shake it.

Meredith shuddered as she looked at the bristly hair and the long, broken nails, but she grasped his hand and shook it anyway. She was surprised to find that his palm was warm and smooth. She looked at Dante. "What about Brian?" she repeated.

The old man held up his hands. "Never fear, Grub has provided me with some valuable information. Your brother is all right for the moment, though I must confess, not in good hands. You must accompany us back to my house where you and Grub can get dried off. There is much I have to tell you and much more that I have to learn from Grub. Then we will decide how to go about recovering your brother. We must hurry, every moment counts."

The day was getting stranger by the moment, Meredith thought. This was all like some crazy dream...but she knew that it was no dream: it was all too frighteningly real. She debated whether or not to run home to her mother: that was probably the appropriate thing to do, not wandering off with some old lunatic and the neighborhood troll. But somehow, no matter how preposterous this all seemed, she knew instinctively that something supernatural had taken her brother away, and only something supernatural could ever bring him back again.

With a heavy sigh, she set off after the old man and the troll.

Brian opened his eyes to blinding sunlight and immediately wished he hadn't. Light stabbed into his brain like a golden dagger, doubling the pain of the headache that already throbbed behind his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut again.

He was also dimly aware of a burning, stinging sensation across the back of his neck and of tightness at his ankles and wrists. Come to think of it, his feet and hands seemed to have fallen asleep: he must be lying on them the wrong way. That happened sometimes in bed at night: he would wake up to find no sensation in his arm because he had been lying on top of it and had cut off the circulation. It was the strangest sensation to pick up your own arm and feel its weight as though it belonged to somebody else.

With an effort, he tried to roll over to let the blood flow back into his extremities. Tried, but failed. For some reason, he just couldn't do it. Then he realized what the reason was: he was bound with rough cords like one of those calves he had seen at the rodeo.

He felt a shadow fall across his face, so he opened his eyes again. He stared up into the same ugly, mottled-green face he had seen in the pond. The creature peered at him with slit eyes and sniffed, wrinkling its nose as though his smell offended it. That's a laugh, he thought as he got a whiff of the creature's fetid breath.

"So, man-child is waking," rasped the creature in a voice like sand on glass. "You got weaker and younger Beyond, Dante." It gave a kind of snuffling laugh as though this was a great witticism.

"Who's Dante?" asked Brian, confused.

The creature started, and then laughed again. "Ha, ha, ha! Good joke, man-child. You not fool Grol: you wear the sign of Dante—you Dante!" he held up Brian's pendant, its chain dangling sadly with two broken ends.

"Hey! That's mine! Give it back!" Brian demanded.

The creature chortled. "See! Dante admits! The Master tell Grol and the others: go find Dante. Look everywhere—don't come back 'til find. Long time Grol and friends search high and low. Even go Beyond, looking. And there Grol find Dante! Now Grol take Dante to the Master. The Master will be thankful. Give Grol many good things."

Gradually the creature's ravings began to make sense to Brian: Old Danton had given him the pendant—said that it was a family heirloom: a symbol. Danton—Dante...the connection was obvious. Someone, this "Master", had sent the creature after Old Danton and it had captured Brian by mistake, because of the pendant. Brian had no idea what it meant by "beyond" nor, for that matter, did he have any idea what exactly the creature was. At this point, all he really wanted to do was go home and have some lunch.

"Look," he began, trying to reason with the creature. "I'm really not who you think I am. He's just a friend of mine. If you really want to meet him I'll show you where he lives...."

Grol grabbed the front of his sweatshirt and hauled him into a sitting position. The creature was amazingly strong for its size, but then its rangy limbs were all sinew and muscle. "No more talk. We go now." It produced a wicked-looking, saw-toothed knife and began to hack away at the cord binding his feet.

For the first time Brian was able to view his surroundings. He was sitting in a field of grass beside a small pond. The grassland stretched onwards in all directions until it gave way to low forest or hills near the horizon. With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Brian realized that there was no part of Gabriola Island that corresponded to that landscape.

His clothing was soaking wet, though it was drying quickly in the hot sun. He remembered being pulled into the pond, but everything after that was a blank. He guessed he must have swallowed too much water and passed out.

Then he saw that he and Grol were not alone. At intervals, at every point of the compass, similar creatures squatted on their skinny haunches in the grass, watching him with wary, unfriendly eyes. Goblins, he thought: they look just like goblins.

Grol finished cutting the cord, which he flung carelessly aside. Grabbing Brian's sweatshirt once more, he urged the boy upward. "You stand now. We go."

Sensation began to flood back into Brian's numb feet, but he was still unsteady. He lurched drunkenly forward, swaying to and fro, threatening to topple over at any moment. Grol looked dismayed by this and spat a few words that might have been curses in a strange language. Then he barked some orders in that same tongue to the other goblins that immediately leapt to their feet and fell into a kind of loose formation around the prisoner. The whole group began to surge forward at a kind of ranging lope that would have been more suitable for Molly than it was for Brian, even with his longer stride.

"Wait...you don't understand...," Brian gasped over his shoulder at Grol, who had fallen into position behind him and slightly to the right. With the speed of a striking snake, Grol lashed out at Brian's thigh with a small, but nasty, whip. Brian howled in pain as a hornet sting lanced across his leg, even with a layer of blue jean in between.

The nightmare had begun.

Meredith sat in the same chair Brian had occupied the day before, a towel thrown around her damp shoulders, and another across her lap. She was sipping on hot tea instead of lemonade. Across from her, cross-legged on the hearth rug, sat Grub, looking distinctly incongruous with a delicate tea-cup clutched awkwardly in one meaty fist. In the other he held a half-eaten cookie. Molly lay on the floor beside him, eyeing the cookie intently.

Dante presided over the scene from his armchair, his eyes sparkling. He was addressing the troll. "...to catch up on, but I think we owe it to our young guest here to start at the beginning of the story. It will serve me well to tell it, too, for my mind has been clouded for many years and the events that brought me to this place have been lost to me since I came here."

Grub nodded vigorously. "As ya say, Master Dante."

The old man turned to Meredith and his eyes took on a far away look, as though he was gazing right through her, into the past. "As you may or may not have guessed, Meredith, there are other worlds than this, and different configurations of space and time than the one you know. Grub and I come from one such place: it is very similar to this world in some ways, but very different in others. We call it Fraeland. Many years ago, by your reckoning, two sons were born to the rulers of that land: King Caladon and Queen Azla. They were fraternal twins, but you could never find two more opposite creatures, both in mind and in appearance. One of them, Justyn, was fair of face, polite, and clever, but possessed of a scheming, cruel, and cunning nature. He was quick to anger, and long to hold a grudge. All in all, an evil and dangerous individual.

"The other boy, however, was dark of countenance, but not ill-favored. He was moody: filled with self-doubt and a tendency to be passive. But despite this, he was pure of heart, honest, and kind. His birth-name was Kelkavar, but I nick-named him Darkmoor, which seemed to suit him better, for he was as deep and mysterious as any marsh at midnight.

"I was appointed to tutor the boys and tried to be impartial to both, but I knew that Justyn was evil. Mind you, he was the better student of the two: he sought out knowledge as most children seek out sweets. He thirsted for it just as he thirsted for power: after all, knowledge is power. Unfortunately, he was impatient and inclined to choose the easiest means to his ends. Predictably, he became attracted to the Dark Arts and began to dabble in things better left alone."

Meredith was finding the old man's account intriguing, but a little difficult to follow. He obviously wasn't used to talking to kids, which seemed odd for a teacher. She'd never heard of half the big words he was using. His speech reminded her of those plays by Shakespeare that they'd had to study in English class. But, despite that, she was getting the general idea. She took another sip of tea.

Dante paused in his tale to do likewise, and then raised himself out of the armchair with the aid of his strange staff. Meredith had noticed the carved dragon and thought it was pretty cool. "Before I get any further along in the story," he said, "there's something I should demonstrate to you to facilitate your understanding." He went over to the mantel above the wide hearth and took down a small wooden box. It was meticulously crafted from several woods of different grains and colours, and was inlaid with fine gold wire and mother-of-pearl. He opened it and at once the room was filled with sweet, tinkling music. The tune was unfamiliar, but Meredith liked it instantly.

Dante smiled at her delight, and removed a flat object swathed in purple velvet from the music box. He put the box down on the arm of Meredith's chair, and closed the lid. The room seemed less cheery without the music, despite the beams of sunlight filtering down through the tree branches outside.

Meredith watched in fascination as the old man unwrapped a small gilt-framed mirror and held it up for her to see. "Mirrors—any stable reflection, for that matter—are windows on other worlds, if you know how to look upon them correctly. Larger ones may even act as portals, allowing passage between the worlds. When you saw Grub, here, in that mirror the other night, he was looking at you through a puddle back in the Borderlands."

Seeing her skeptical look, he continued, "Here, allow me to demonstrate....Stare into this mirror and relax. Let your mind go blank. Look at your reflection, but do not focus on it...try to look right through it as though this piece of glass were a window. That's right. Good."

Meredith felt a little strange. Disoriented. She was dimly aware of Dante and the rest of the room: it even seemed to her that his staff had begun to glow with a curious blue light, but all of that had taken on an unreal, dream-like quality. At the same time, her reflection in the mirror seemed to dissolve, and she found herself gazing up at a blue sky with fluffy clouds drifting across it. Around the edges of her vision she could see tall grasses swaying in a gentle breeze. She reached out to touch them...

"That will do for now," said Dante, quickly removing the mirror from her reach and placing it back in the velvet and then in the box. Another brief burst of music lilted through the room as he did so.

Dante placed the music box back on the mantel and returned to his seat. "Now, where was I?" he asked, trying to recover the thread of his story. "Ahh, yes. The turning point. You see, Justyn used the forbidden knowledge he had gathered to open up a new portal between worlds: not between this world and Fraeland, but between Fraeland and some demonic netherworld."

Grub stirred uneasily on his rug, as though at some unpleasant memory. Molly lifted her head from the floor and looked up at him questioningly.

"But, wasn't he just a kid?" asked Meredith.

Dante raised an eyebrow at her. "Indeed! Only a few years older than yourself, at that. But that was precisely the problem: he lacked the wisdom to see the danger in his actions. Though I must admit I wonder if he would have cared anyway. He was never overly concerned for the welfare of others...not even his allies."

"How could a loser like that have friends?"

"Oh, bullies, thieves, and ruffians are ever attracted to the dark radiance of one such as Justyn. And there is never any shortage of such trash, even in Fraeland. He made sure he had built up a sizeable following before he dared defy me."

Meredith put down her empty teacup. "So what happened when all Hell broke loose?"

Dante smiled grimly. "You could not have picked a more apt expression. All manner of nightmarish things began to creep through the portal and spread across the countryside. Justyn either could not or would not control it. Through great expenditure of my own personal power, I was finally able to cast the rupture to the farthest reaches of our world, but I was not able to close it.

"And even then, it was already too late. People began to die mysteriously and horribly. The king himself was poisoned and the queen succumbed to a plague that swept through the population. In the absence of anyone more suitable, I was declared regent on behalf of the two princes until they came of age, whereupon the kingdom would be divided between them. But that was not good enough for Justyn, not by half. He courted me and tried to win me to his cause: he offered to make me his viscount if I would hand over the kingdom to him, and spurn his brother. When I refused, he flew into a murderous rage and sent assasins to kill the both of us. Normally, this would have posed me little threat, but in my weakened state I was no match for them: I had no choice but to gather up Grub and Darkmoor and flee into the wilderness.

"Our pursuers were relentless, though—no doubt under dire orders from their young master. They dogged our heels, steadily closing the gap between us. Finally, I stopped to make a stand beside a pond in an open plain. I sent Grub on with Darkmoor, hoping that I could buy them enough time to escape."

Grub was suddenly on his feet, shouting excitedly, "You should'a let me stay an' fight, Master Dante—an' Darkmoor too: the lad was handy with a sword, y' know. We'd a' shown 'em!"

The old man smiled kindly at his little friend. "Yes, you might have, at that. But I dared not risk it. Not when a lucky thrust could have killed the boy, and with him any chance of freeing Fraeland from the clutches of his brother. No, Grub—we did what was best, under the circumstances."

"So what happened?" prodded Meredith, impatiently.

"Well, I was younger then, and Smiter here," he indicated the dragon staff, "and I managed to give a fair reckoning of ourselves before one of the bastards...pardon my language...struck me upside the head with a sling cast. I stumbled backward, losing consciousness, tripped, and fell into the pond. When I woke up, I was floating face down in the pool your brother fell into, here in this world. Unfortunately, the blow to my head also robbed me of my memory: I only knew that I needed to guard that pond for some reason, and be wary of mirrors. Your brother's arrival here the other day triggered memories that had lain dormant for more than a decade."

Meredith held up her hands. "Ok, ok. So now I know your life story—what about Brian?"

The old man's face became grave. "He has been captured by the forces of evil: Justyn's minions. A squad of creatures you would probably call 'goblins'. Doubtless the fool's were misled by the pendant I gave him and thought they had found me. They never were known for being overly intelligent."

He turned suddenly to Grub. "But, perhaps it is time for you to pick up the tale, my friend. I am anxious to know Darkmoor's fate."

The troll put down his teacup and rested his hands on his knees. He spoke in serious, measured tones. "We ex-scaped—thanks to ya— Master Dante, but fled inta the east. Lived that way fer years, always lookin' o'er our shoulders, if ya know what I mean. Lived off the land, or worked fer bread and shelter, but hardly a soul lives in those parts, as ya know.

"The years went by, an' Darkmoor grew ta a man. More an' more often we fought with those things from the Portal, but who knows whether they were workin' fer Justyn or only 'emselves. Everywhere we went we saw the mess they left behind, and signs that the land itself was startin' ta die. Finally, Darkmoor swore that he'd take care o' both Justyn an' the Portal, before it was too late for Fraeland. We headed east, past the BorderLands, an' further still, all the way ta the frontier o' Halflight."

Grub leaned forward, warming to his story. "Strange and evil creatures kept flowin' out o' the Frozen Wastes in the east, infectin' all the lands beyond like a contagion. The way was dim an' unfamiliar; we wandered lost 'tween the worlds. I could see the strain takin' its toll on Darkmoor: he began t' falter. He lost his sense o' purpose an' drive."

The little man sighed heavily. "We were attacked by a pack o' Dire Wolves on the frontier o' the Frozen Wastes on a moonless night. We got separated in the confusion and I na'er saw Darkmoor again, even though I searched an' called 'is name for days. All I could think t' do was ta try ta find ya, Dante, ta see if ya could help 'im. So I turned my back on the risin' sun and headed ta Fraeland, hopin' ta pick up some hint o' yer passin', but there was none...t'was as though ya'd vanished altogether, which I suppose ya had.

"Then, in the BorderLands in the middle of a summer storm, I comes upon a band o' goblins an' overheard a reference to Dante while spyin' on 'em. I decided t' follow 'em across the soaked meadows. Yesterday, I watched while one of 'em—their leader I suppose—used a large pond as a portal t' cross over inta this world. He came back in a hurry, agitated 'bout somethin'. He talked ta his henchmen, then they all took up watch positions at every puddle. I found a splash of my own an' peered into it to try to see what t'was that had got 'em so excited. That was when I saw ya," he looked at Meredith.

"I kept watchin' until this mornin' when I saw the head goblin reach inta the pond and pull a human boy-child out o' the water by a chain 'round his neck. The boy seemed dazed with shock, but he was okay otherwise. They trussed 'im up good an' held a parlay ta decide what ta do next. The pendant he'd been wearin' was bein' showed off by the head goblin an' even at that distance, I could see that it was yers, Dante.

"The boy soon woke up an' they all marched off eastways. Once they'd gone, I crept ta the water's edge ta see if I could spot any trace of ya, Dante...and that's when ya grabbed me. None too gently, I might add," he said with feigned indignation.

Dante ignored this. "Which brings us to the hard part: what do we do for your brother?" he asked, looking solemnly at Meredith.

"How should I know? I have to take your word for what happened to him—all this stuff about portals, and goblins and everything. Sounds like a TV show, or somethin'."

Dante nodded. "I understand how you must feel. But can you think of a better explanation?"

She had to admit that she couldn't.

Dante accepted this gracefully. "Very well, then. What do you want to do about it?"

"Shouldn't we tell my mom? Maybe Uncle Kyle could do something. Or the police?"

The old man frowned. "In the first place, do you really think they would believe us? Even you are having trouble doing so, and you have witnessed the events with your own eyes. Secondly, even if they did believe you, there is nothing that they could do."

"Why not?"

"Because they lack the ability to use a portal. You see, all creatures in my world have this ability, but in your world, only the young, before experience closes their minds to unusual possibilities, do."

"So why don't you go after Brian?"

Dante smiled sadly. "Thank you for your confidence in me, but I am too old now to fight the forces from the Frozen Wastes. The journey alone would be too difficult for my old bones. No, I cannot go, though I would dearly love to see my world again—and Darkmoor."

Meredith sat in silence for a long time. "Then, that only leaves me, doesn't it?" she said quietly.

"And Grub...and Molly, if she'll go," replied Dante. "But are you sure you want to do this? It will be like no challenge you have ever faced before: there will be hardships, and pain...you may even die."

"Of course I'm not sure!" Meredith snapped, tears welling in her eyes. She was frightened and confused. What choice did she have: if she didn't go, Brian was as good as dead. If she did, they might both be. It was a no-win situation. "Just tell me what I have to do," she said, resignedly.

Grub gave a disgusted snort and muttered under his breath, "She'll n'aer make it."

Meredith wasn't supposed to hear it, but she did, and it made her angry and all the more determined to prove him wrong.

Sensing this, Dante said softly, "Don't be so sure, my little friend. There is more to this one than meets the eye. She has hidden strength and resources that will serve her well on the journey. If it were not so I would never allow her to go." Then he rose and said to Meredith, "Now that the decision is made, you must depart as swiftly as possible. Wait here with Grub and I will put together whatever supplies I have on hand to assist you." With that, he left the room.

Grub watched Meredith for a moment, then got up and came over to her. He took her hand in his own weathered mitt. "Don't be a'feared," he said reassuringly, "I'm the best guide in all o' Fraeland, an' mayhap beyond, as well. I've fought beside Dante an' Darkmoor...and others a'fore 'em. My da taught me all about livin' off the land...it'll be all right...you'll see."

Meredith pulled her hand away violently. "Don't touch me, you little freak! If it wasn't for you, this wouldn't be happening. Why didn't you save Brian and bring him back when you had the chance, if you're so good?"

So unexpected was this outburst that Grub leapt backward, stumbling over Molly. Trying to preserve what little was left of his dignity; he retreated back to the hearth rug where he slumped into a sullen silence.

Meredith did likewise.

After what seemed like hours, Dante finally returned carrying a bulging backpack. It was made from sturdy canvas, with brass grommets and leather straps. "I picked this up at a second hand shop near the market a few years back...didn't know why at the time; it just seemed like something I'd need someday. Turns out it's something you need," he said to Meredith.

"What's all that stuff inside?" she asked warily.

"Well, what I have been using it for is my earthquake emergency kit, and while this is not exactly an earthquake, it certainly is an emergency. There's everything in here you could possibly want: insect repellent, a compass, a canteen, food rations, rope, a Swiss army knife, a lighter, candles, a wool blanket, a 'space' blanket, fishing gear, toilet paper—and I'm not sure why, but even a box of sparklers!"

"How reassuring," Meredith said sarcastically.

Dante seemed taken aback by her attitude. "Yes, well, you never know. Now, if you'll take this, I'll go get the portal."

"You'll wha...hey, this weighs a tonne!" she complained as she hefted the pack.

"Oh, you'll get used to it," Dante called back over his shoulder. "Besides, Grub will be happy to give you a hand with it."

"The 'ell I will!" growled the troll. "Didn't 'ave half that much the whole time me 'n Darkmoor was lost in the wilds."

Meredith glared at him. "Yeah, well I'll remember that when you come begging for food or a warm blanket."

"Harrrummph," replied Grub.

"Here we are," grunted Dante with effort as he wrestled a tall object into the room. It was draped in black cloth, but two legs of wood protruded from the bottom. He positioned it to his satisfaction and then produced a large plastic bag which he handed to Meredith along with an enormous twist-tie.

"You'll need to put the pack and any personal effects in here to protect them from the water."

"You're not gonna' make me go back into that pond again...," Meredith began to object.

"No, no—that won't be necessary. Besides, it would take far too long. We need to get you on your way posthaste. You will be using this...." He pulled the cloth away to reveal a full-length, oval mirror. "But you will fall 'up' into Fraeland through water. I'm sorry, but there just aren't many mirrors to be found in the wilds."

"Great. And I just started to dry off." She stuffed the pack into the bag, thought for a moment, and then added her smartphone. "Bit late for that, I guess," she grumbled as she tightened the twist-tie.

Dante put his hand on her shoulder. "You are on the cusp between youth and adulthood. That means that you cannot make it through the portal without assistance. Take my staff: it will open the way for you."

She took the staff in her free hand and was amazed by its lightness and the soft vibration that thrummed up and down its length. It felt warm, like a living thing. "Are you sure...," she began.

Grub cut her off. "Yeah, Dante...you can't be serious...you can't give up Smiter!"

Dante bent down and put a steadying hand on Grub's shoulder, too. "It must be so. You cannot hope to succeed without it." He straightened to face Meredith again.

"There is one thing I must tell you, Meredith: the staff possesses a finite amount of energy, and only those trained in the Art can use it effectively. This means that, in order for you to return home again, the staff must not be completely drained, and you must locate someone with the skill to open another portal for you. I hope that you will seek out Darkmoor for that task. Therein lies the key to survival for both of you, and perhaps for Fraeland itself."

They said their last farewells, and lined up before the mirror, Grub at the front. With a final wave to Dante, the little troll hopped through the mirror as though it were an open doorway. Meredith took a step closer, the staff in her hand beginning to hum more loudly and glow with that same blue light. She noticed that the mirror had ceased to reflect her and the room. Once again she felt that strange disorientation and saw blue sky before her. She strode toward it and vanished after the troll.

Molly ran up to the mirror, barking, then turned and bounded back to Dante, licking his hand and looking up at him in consternation.

The old man—and with the departure of the staff he suddenly looked every one of his eighty-plus years—scratched her under the chin and said, gently, "Go ahead, little one...they will have need of you."

The border collie hesitated ever so slightly, then launched herself through the mirror after the others.

Dante was alone in the house with nothing but fear, and the guilty knowledge of what he had just done, for company.

Chapter Three

Brian's world had turned into a hellish blur of heat, sweat, and pain. For hours now, the goblins had marched without rest, their tireless, rangy legs pounding up and down like pistons in a weird half-trot. If it hadn't been for the fact that Brian's stride was almost twice theirs, the pace would have done him in by now.

At first, he had been merely winded: his lungs and chest aching, begging for a rest. That had subsided—thankfully—as he gained his second wind and settled into an efficient rhythm. Then his leg muscles had begun to tire, and his knees started to ache. Soon afterward his feet became sore as well. Although it was difficult, he had looked back at Grol over his shoulder as he ran and gasped, "Please...I've got to...stop. Just...for...a second."

The goblin's eyes had narrowed suspiciously. "Why? You have to go?"

"No...I...,"

"You have to go, we stop—but then you must run faster to catch up with others. Otherwise, no stop."

"Yes, but...,"

"NO STOP!" The whip had lashed out and bit into his thigh again.

Brian had howled in pain, his eyes watering, and tried to clutch the wounded spot as he ran, which resulted in a kind of comical dance. Grol had laughed wickedly from behind him.

As the afternoon ground on, Brian's initial aches and pains had turned into to pure agony. He was parched, his lips dry and cracked from the sun and his laboured breathing. His tongue was a swollen, foreign thing which seemed to block the passage of the precious air he tried to suck into his ravaged lungs. The expensive running shoes that his mother had bought him—how long ago?—had worn burning blisters on his heels and toes. The constant motion of his jeans had chafed his legs mercilessly. A stitch stabbed into his side more sharply with each breath and a headache throbbed behind his eyes in sync with his pounding heart. His damp clothes had quickly dried in the afternoon sun, but now they were drenched again, this time with sweat. He was sure that every step would be his last one, but somehow—with a little help from the whip—he staggered on.

Finally, he had become numb. His legs felt like two heavy, lifeless chunks of wood. He was only dimly aware of his surroundings, and the creeping passage of time. His vision swam in drunken, grey circles interspersed with bursts of brilliant colour. The air had begun to cool and, although he couldn't take the time to look, he imagined that behind him, the sun was very low on the horizon, sliding slowly into deepening layers of red and orange.

Grol suddenly barked a terse order and the whole troop came to an abrupt halt. The goblins literally dropped where they stood and lay motionless on the rocky ground. Brian tried to stop, but his legs refused to take any new orders from his brain. His forward momentum carried him on, even as his legs buckled beneath him, causing him to sprawl head-long. Oblivious of the pain of impact and the sharp edges of rocks which were now cutting into his body, Brian closed his eyes and wept with relief.

He must have lost consciousness, because the next thing he knew he snapped awake to tepid water being trickled on his face. He sputtered and looked around in confusion, disoriented. As his vision gradually cleared he saw that one of the goblins was holding a metal bowl of water out to him.

"Here, human...drink," he said encouragingly.

Brian accepted the water and gulped it down greedily.

"No!" shouted the goblin, trying to grab the bowl back from Brian. "Foolish human...must sip slowly or you retch!"

Too late. The boy's empty stomach convulsed and he rolled over onto all fours heaving its precious contents out onto the ground. He hunched there, a thin thread of saliva trailing from his chin, more miserable than ever.

The goblin shook its head in disgust. "Stupid human. You waste. Next time you get no more." He refilled the bowl from a skin slung across his shoulder and offered it to Brian once more. "Here...again."

This time Brian took it more slowly, though his overpowering thirst urged him to drink quickly.

The goblin nodded approvingly, then sat back on his haunches and pulled out chunk of jerky-like meat. He tore off a strip with his filthy nails and held it out to Brian. "Eat?" he asked.

Brian looked dubiously at the withered scrap and wondered briefly what unsavory animal had rendered it up for their consumption. But his hunger was as strong as his thirst had been, so he took the meat, gave it a sniff, then tasted it tentatively. It had a smoky, gamy flavor.

The goblin, gnawing hungrily at his own piece, gestured at him impatiently. "Eat! Eat!"

Brian began to chew in earnest, but found the meat to be impossibly tough. He was forced to swallow it in large, painful lumps, but it seemed to ease the pains in his belly.

The goblin finished his meat in short order and began to rummage around in the leather satchel he carried. In a moment he produced a blackened object which turned out to be a roll of some kind of bread, hard enough to use as a weapon. He drew a narrow, serrated dagger from a sheath on his hip and crudely hacked the roll in two. He handed half to Brian, who nodded in thanks. It had a bland, musty taste, but he finished every crumb.

Feeling somewhat better, Brian took a moment to look around. The rest of the goblins, including Grol, were scattered here and there, relaxing in guttural conversations, eating, or sleeping. Several, Brian noticed, patrolled slowly just beyond the perimeter of the camp. A small fire had been lit at the centre of the area and one goblin crouched beside it poking and tending it with a stick.

The landscape had begun to transform from grasslands to rolling hills. Small trees and shrubs dotted the countryside and provided some relief from the otherwise featureless undulations of the land. Except for occasional patches of moss and scrubby grass, the ground was barren and rocky.

Brian turned his attention to his goblin companion. Given the wrinkled, repulsive nature of their appearance, the goblins all looked to be about the same age and gender to him. There was something about this one's demeanor, however, that gave Brian the impression of youth. It made sense that the duty of tending to the captive would fall to a junior member of the troop. This individual was slightly smaller than the others, as well.

He seemed to suddenly become aware of Brian's inspection. He sat up from where he had been lounging, enjoying his full belly. He studied Brian for a moment, then announced, "I Krul—you Dante."

Brian sighed heavily. "Look, I'm not Dante—my name is Brian."

Krul cocked his head curiously. "You not Dante?"

Brian shook his head. "No. I was just wearing his medallion 'cause he gave it to me. I tried telling Grol, but he wouldn't listen."

The goblin looked over at his leader, a puzzled look on his face. He turned back to Brian and fixed him with a piercing squint. "You sure you not Dante?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Brian stated in exasperation. "Don't you think I'd know it if I was?"

This logic seemed to satisfy Krul, for he suddenly broke into a toothy grin. "The Master will be very angry with Grol!" he said, archly. "Probably he will turn Grol into a slime-toad!" He snickered, seeming to find the prospect terribly amusing.

Brian untied his shoes and winced as he eased them off, even though he tried to do it gingerly. He rolled down his grubby sweat socks, pausing first to pluck off the burrs and pieces of dry brown grass that had attached themselves.

His feet were a mess. The blisters had burst leaving raw, inflamed sores. Only stubborn pride kept him from breaking down and crying.

Krul cocked his head and looked closely at Brian's feet, making a disapproving, clucking sound. He gave the boy a reproachful stare, saying, "This not good: you have far to go, still. Krul not want to have to carry foolish manchild." He thought for a moment, then added, "You wait, I fix."

With that he scampered away past the ring of goblins that formed the camp and out into the gathering dusk. Watching him go, Brian wondered if he should attempt to do likewise and escape from these creatures. They hadn't yet replaced his bonds, but they might at any moment. The problem was, he didn't really know what he would do or where he would go if he did manage to escape. And he was so tired....

He had started to nod off when he was shaken awake by a gnarled hand on his shoulder. It was Krul. "Here, Bry-an. I find special roots, make healing paste for you. Also I bring patches."

He handed Brian a large leaf with a dollop of some lumpy, yellowish-white substance on top of it. He also handed over several strips of rabbit's skin, cured to form the thinnest, most delicate leather Brian had ever seen. He gestured for Brian to apply the paste to his wounds, which he did.

The soothing coolness brought instant relief, although the smell was like camphor. Brian made a distasteful face. "How did you make this?" he asked.

Krul mimicked a chewing motion and grinned.

Brian grimaced. "Gross!" he said in disgust, but he unbuttoned his jeans and reached down inside them to rub the remainder of the paste onto the welts left by Grol's whip.

Once all this was done, Krul indicated that Brian was to wrap his feet with the rabbit skin. He did so, with occasional intervention by the goblin, and then pulled his socks back on over top of the wrappings. Krul seemed pleased with the proceedings. "Good! Now, you sleep: need strength for tomorrow." He grunted some kind of goblin farewell and slunk off into the twilight before Brian could thank him for his help.

Looking around, Brian noticed that many of the other goblins—he could count at least ten of them—had already curled up where they lay and were fast asleep. None of them seemed to have need of the luxury of blankets even though the air had rapidly chilled with the departure of the sun. Too exhausted to care any more, Brian lay his head down on his arm and instantly fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Meredith broke the surface of the water with a desperate gasp, droplets flying wildly. She began to sink back down, but her feet found the bottom and she was able to stand with her head and shoulders clear. She still clutched Dante's staff in one hand. The garbage bag bobbed nearby. There was a splashing sound beside her as Molly popped up, wild-eyed with fear and thrashing madly. Instinctively, she began paddling to shore. Meredith turned and saw that Grub was already there. She followed.

The troll had dragged himself up onto the grass and collapsed onto his back, spread-eagled, breathing heavily. Meredith dropped the bag and the staff, then joined him. Molly shook herself vigorously, spraying them both with fine droplets. "Aaagh!" protested Grub, shielding his face with his hands. "Bloody dog. Off with yer!" he shouted.

Molly flinched, hunching, and gave him a piercing glare, but she held her ground.

"Leave her alone!" scolded Meredith. "Don't be so mean."

"Bah!" muttered the troll with a dismissive gesture. He then busied himself wringing water out of his clothes and dumping it out of his leather satchel, grumbling under his breath as he did.

Meredith ignored him. She gave Molly a reassuring pat and lay back on the dry grass, soaking up the warmth of the afternoon sun.

A few moments later she had already begun to doze. A voice beside her startled her awake. "Well, are ya goin' ta lie there all day, or are we goin' ta start lookin' fer yer brother?" asked Grub.

Meredith squinted up at his silhouetted form. "I was just waiting for you," she retorted, gathering herself together. She undid the twist-tie on the garbage bag and removed the backpack which, amazingly, was still dry. Her sweater still clung to her shoulders with its sodden weight. She took it off, wrung it out, and tied it around her waist by the sleeves. The black stretch pants were nearly dry already and rapidly becoming unbearably warm. With sudden inspiration, she buttoned up the front of the sweater to form an unorthodox skirt and squirmed out of the pants, which she folded up and stowed in the pack.

"That's better," she said out loud, pleased with her ingenuity. She picked up the staff and turned to find Grub looking at her skeptically. He shook his head without comment, then turned and trudged away eastward, head bowed low as he examined the ground for traces of the goblins' passing.

Meredith and Molly followed, the dog with considerably more enthusiasm. Molly quickly caught up to, and passed, the troll, who cast a glance back over his shoulder at Meredith. "Can this dog track?" he asked without much optimism.

"Of course she can," Meredith responded haughtily while secretly wondering if this were true. "Border collies are the smartest dogs, you know."

Grub snorted. "That remains ta be seen."

Ignoring him, Meredith called out, "Molly, listen: where is Brian? Go find Brian. Where is he?"

Molly paused in her inspection of an abandoned rabbit-hole and looked up at Meredith with an inquiring look. After a moment she returned her attention to the hole.

Grub barked with laughter. "Ho, ho! That's a tracker all right—look at 'er go! Hee, hee, hee!"

Meredith felt her face flush with embarrassment. She glared at the troll saying, "She hasn't known us very long: she probably doesn't know our names yet." She turned her attention back to the dog, frowning. Suddenly her face brightened. "I know...," she said, "Molly, where's the 'Boy'? Find the 'Boy'!"

Molly's head snapped up. The look in her eyes changed noticeably from mild curiosity to understanding. She put her nose to the ground and started to sniff. Then she began to wend her way east, along the goblins' path, following Brian's faint scent as though it were a beacon beckoning her onward.

Meredith was almost too surprised to react. She clapped her hands together in excitement, calling: "That a' girl—good girl! Go find 'Boy'! Find him!" Molly seemed oblivious to any of this additional encouragement: she was firmly focused on the task.

Even Grub looked grudgingly impressed. "Well I'll be...," he muttered. Then he turned to Meredith. "Don't just stand there gawpin'...after 'er!"

They both set off in pursuit.

The going was fairly easy across the gently rolling grassland, though by mid-afternoon they could see the ground ahead getting rougher. The pack, which had seemed heavy back at Dante's place, soon dragged down on Meredith like a lead weight, chafing her shoulders right through the t-shirt. She desperately wanted to take a break, or ask Grub to help carry the pack, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she clenched her teeth, focused on the receding back-end of the dog, and marched on.

Molly followed the trail diligently for about an hour before she lost interest and flopped down for a rest. She lay there in the grass panting as she waited for the others to catch up. Seizing the opportunity, Meredith swung the pack to the ground and joined Molly with a tired groan. To her surprise, Grub made no caustic comments but stood, with his hands on his hips, surveying the way ahead. He reached into a pocket, pulled out something that resembled beef jerky, and began to chew.

Gesturing ahead, he spoke around a mouthful jerky, "This area looks very familiar: me an' Darkmoor came this way years ago. We're close t' the Frontier."

Meredith gave him a blank look. "The frontier? Of what?"

"'Tween the BorderLands an' Halflight. We're in the BorderLands now," he made a sweeping gesture to indicate the land around them, "an' ahead is Halflight."

Watching the troll eat made Meredith acutely aware of the gnawing in her own belly. She rummaged through the pack until she found some crackers which she quickly devoured and washed down with a generous swig of water from the canteen.

Grub gave her a reproachful look. "Go easy on the water, girl: n'aer know when we'll find more. Here, give us a swig." He took the canteen in his two meaty fists and threw back his head for a brief gulp. He lowered the canteen with a satisfied sigh and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he noticed Molly's stare.

"Ya want some too? Bah! At this rate we'll be dead o'thirst in a couple o' days." Despite his grumbling, he poured out a palmful of water and held it up for Molly to lick. She wagged her tail gratefully, ears lying flat on her head. Her tongue lolled as she sat there waiting for more.

"Forget it, dog," said Grub, screwing the top back onto the canteen. "Can't afford t' be wastin' good water on the likes o' ya. Go find a puddle somewhere. An' while ye're at it, ya'd better start learnin' how t' catch yerself some'at t' eat."

Looking shocked and forlorn, Molly slunk off to explore the neighboring terrain.

Grub pulled out a dirty handkerchief and mopped the sweat from his brow. "Shouldn't linger: every minute's delay increases the gap 'tween us an' 'em."

"But we just stopped!" protested Meredith.

The troll whirled around to face her. "Look," he said angrily, "'e's yer brother: d'ya want t' find him, or not?"

"Of course I do, but....I'm just...so tired...." She began to sob as all the day's stress caught up with her.

Grub scowled and sat back on his haunches. "Ya should'a said 'no'."

Meredith looked up through teary eyes. "What?"

"Ya should've told Dante 'no'. Ya've no business bein' 'ere—ye're just a slip of a girl! Darkmoor an' I spent the last ten years wanderin' these lands, livin' by our wits and only just managin' to keep life and limb t'gether. How can ya hope t' survive, let alone save anyone else? That's what I'd like t' know. It's all a bloody mistake, if ya ask me."

Meredith's eyes blazed with hot anger. "Well I didn't ask you, you little creep. So you can just keep your gloom to yourself! I don't want to be here, but I am...and I'm going to find my brother and get out of here just as quick as I can. And the sooner I can leave you behind, the better!" She knuckled away her tears and gathered up the pack and the staff, then marched off toward the land Grub had called "Halflight".

The path that the goblins had taken was, for the most part, obvious enough even for Meredith to follow. The tall grass was trampled by their passing, the long, bent and broken stems pointing like arrows in the direction they had travelled. This, combined with the cast off bits of food, and the inevitable deposits of bodily waste, made their spoor easy to mark. Clearly, they were moving quickly, but not from fear of pursuit.

After holding out as long as she could, Meredith had finally relieved herself behind a bush, uttering silent thanks to Dante for having had the presence of mind to include toilet paper in his emergency kit. She carefully parceled out the precious squares, already more conscientious about conserving them than she had been about the water. She was becoming acutely aware of the many niceties that she had taken for granted until that morning.

The heat of the day quickly faded, as did the light, forcing the troll, the human, and the dog to make camp for the night. Meredith pulled her pants and sweater back on to keep out the cold and the bugs. She huddled in front of the fire Grub had made from a few arm-loads of dry brush, her mouth watering as she watched him cook a young rabbit he had killed with a sling he carried in his satchel. At first she had been repulsed at the thought of eating the poor thing, and the bloody process of skinning and cleaning it hadn't helped her appetite any. But now the succulent scent of cooking meat, combined with the fact that she'd only had a few crackers to eat all day, aroused a ravenous hunger in her.

Molly, too, was watching the rabbit, transfixed.

Grub hummed contentedly to himself as he turned the spit, pausing occasionally to toss a few more handfuls of brush onto the fire. As an aside, he said to Meredith, "This supply o' fuel won't see us through the night—what I'd give fer a few honest pieces of wood. We'll need to lay in a wee supply next time we come across any."

"You can carry it," grumbled Meredith.

The troll looked at her askance. "You have the pack," he observed.

"Yeah, yeah...as if my shoulders weren't rubbed half-off already!" Meredith reached under her shirt and touched the tender skin on her shoulder, wincing.

Grub shrugged. "Well, maybe we could rig some kind o' panniers fer tha dog—she's strong enough." He lifted the spitted rabbit up for closer inspection, sniffing it. "There, 'at's about done," he announced.

He took out a large hunting knife—practically a sword in his hands—sliced off a haunch and skewered it. He held this delicacy out to Meredith. "Careful, it's hot!"

She plucked the steaming meat off the tip of the knife and juggled it from hand to hand, blowing on it to cool it. Finally she took it between her teeth, the sweet juices running down her chin. "Mmmm, dis is gud!" she commented with her mouth full.

Grub chuckled and tossed Molly a slab of meat. "There ya go, dog. Enjoy it, 'cause that's the last ya'll get from me—yer on yer own after this." The border collie devoured the entire piece in a single gulp, then watched expectantly for more. Grub shook his head as he chewed his own share. "Ya heard me: that's it fer ya."

The troll had also obtained some spinach-like leaves, which they ate as a dressing-less salad, and a couple of tubers which he baked at the edge of the fire. Meredith was pleasantly surprised to find that, when they had cooled sufficiently, they had a similar texture and flavour to yams.

With the evening meal behind them, or more appropriately: within them, they prepared to sleep. Meredith rolled out the space blanket to lie on and unfolded the wool one for warmth. They stretched out on their backs and stared up at the starlit sky. None of the constellations were familiar and the moon seemed twice its usual size. All of a sudden she was seized with a terrible sense of home-sickness and despair. She sobbed quietly to herself, not wanting Grub to know, until she fell into exhausted sleep.

Hearing her breathing become slow and regular, Grub said softly, "Ya did all right t'day, lass." Then he rolled over and fell asleep, also.

"Kyle, it's almost five and they still haven't come home—something must've happened," Marilyn insisted, her face drawn with worry. When the kids failed to show up for lunch she and Carol had strolled around the property calling their names, but hadn't found a trace of them. Carol had suggested that they must have taken Molly to the beach for a swim. Uncle Kyle had been dispatched to look for the truants, but he too had come up empty-handed.

"Now Marilyn, don't get all worked-up about nothing," Kyle tried to reassure her. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation here if you'll just be patient. You know kids...."

"But they're not like this—they've always been so reliable, especially Meredith. She always calls if she's going to be late. I just know something has happened." She pressed her fist to her mouth as she lost her composure and began to sob.

Carol put a comforting arm around her. "There, there, dear. Don't be silly. Nothing has happened to them. They're just two young children on summer vacation and they've lost track of time, is all. You'll see." She shot Kyle a sharp glance.

He lurched to his feet as though he'd received an electrical shock. "Yeah...that's right. Really, Marilyn...you'll see. I'll go have another look around, and then if you like, I'll give Corporal Sidhu a call: maybe he's seen 'em."

Marilyn stiffened, and raised her head suddenly, eyes wide. "They're with that old man you told us about. Old...Danton...that's where they are. I'm sure of it."

Carol looked concerned. "Well, maybe they are...but that's nothing to worry about. He's really quite harmless...there's never been any trouble. You know how old people love to talk: he's probably telling them his life story. Lord knows that would take a while!" She turned to her husband. "Kyle, why don't you wander over there and have a look around."

"I don't know, Carol. That would be trespassing...."

"Kyle!"

"All right, all right. But if I get a backside full of salt, you're gonna hear about it!"

Kyle changed out of his shorts into some slacks and put on an old pair of loafers. The late afternoon was still warm, but the bugs would be out soon, so he pulled a nylon windbreaker on for protection. The crickets were in full chorus as he strode, grumbling under his breath, across the meadow. He soon picked up the path that the kids had taken: it cut through the tall grass heading directly for the old man's property. "Damn," He muttered.

He reached the edge of the trees and noted the "NO TRESPASSING" sign right away. "Great," he grumbled as he ducked under the over-hanging branches and stepped into the shadowy woods. The cooler air felt good against his face as he strode quickly along the forest path. In a few moments he came to the clearing where the pond lay, dark and mysterious. Looking around, he noticed a number of footprints in the mud along the water's edge—they seemed fairly recent. Mixed in with the elaborate running shoe imprints were the unmistakable tracks of a dog. No doubt about it, the kids had been here, all right.

He called out in a loud voice, "Brian? Meredith?"

No answer.

Kyle began to walk slowly around the perimeter of the pond, staring into the water, hoping not to see what he was afraid might be there. A glint of silver caught his eye and he spotted his old salmon net laying in the muck on the bottom a couple of metres out.

There was something very disturbing about the sight of the abandoned net. For the first time he began to believe that something bad might actually have happened to his niece and nephew. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and he began to sweat. The palms of his hands felt clammy. With a shudder, and a growing sense of urgency, he turned away from the pond and hurried further along the path.

Eventually he arrived at Dante's house where it stood draped in long shadows. An old man sat in a rocking chair on the wide verandah, slowly rocking back and forth, but staring blankly into space. Kyle frowned, bemused by the unreality of the scene. Then he remembered why he was there and marched up to the front steps.

"You must be Danton—I'm Kyle McLaughlin, I'm your neighbour on the east side of your property. I'm looking for my niece and nephew...and my dog. Have you seen them by any chance? Their mom's pretty worried about them and I was wondering if maybe they had wandered over your way."

The old man—he looked over eighty!—seemed to be in a trance, his thoughts miles away. Slowly, he blinked his rheumy eyes and turned his head toward Kyle, seeing him for the first time. He stared for a long time before he finally spoke in a frail voice, "I have seen the girl and the dog today, but not the boy. None of them are here now."

Kyle felt somewhat encouraged—the old man seemed harmless enough, and at least he had seen Meredith—but there was something odd about him nonetheless. "When did you see them? Where did they go?" he asked.

The old man regarded him calmly. His eyes seemed very tired and very sad. "This morning. To the BorderLands."

"Where? What border lands?"

"They are not on any map."

Kyle bridled with anger. "Look, Mister. This is serious—I'm in no mood for riddles. Now, are you going to tell me where these kids are, or do I have to call the police?"

"I have told you. They are beyond your reach for the moment, but you must have faith that they will return...I do. All you can do is be strong and wait. Now please, get off of my property." Old Danton shifted his gaze away into space again, returning to his trance-like state.

"Now wait just a...," Kyle began to protest, starting up the stairs, but a flapping, pecking whirlwind dropped onto him from out of nowhere. His hands flew up to protect his eyes and he instinctively retreated to the front lawn. The crow flew back up onto the eaves.

Kyle glared at it, smoothing out his hair. "Okay, okay! Have it your way," he shouted, shaking a finger at the old man. "I'm calling the cops! I'll be back, and if you've harmed either one of those kids, you're going to be sorry!" With that he strode angrily away.

To his receding back, Dante said softly, "Indeed, I shall."

Chapter Four

Brian awoke shivering, with a sense of foreboding. A chill wind was rustling the dying leaves of the stunted oaks that hunched here and there around the campsite. Brian strained to catch a trace of any sound that might have wakened him, but heard nothing unusual. In fact, except for the wind, he heard nothing at all, and that in itself was ominous enough.

He propped himself up on his elbows and slowly scanned the shadowy encampment. The unusually large crescent moon cast cold white light over the scene—when it wasn't obscured by shreds of cloud being swept along by the wind. Long, inky shadows lay frozen on the rough ground, except for those cast by the tree branches which swayed and twitched in the breeze. He was gazing at these, half-mesmerized and still sleepy, when one shadow detached itself from the others and began to glide stealthily along the ground toward the sleeping goblins.

A different kind of chill crept over Brian. He tried to cry out, but his throat seemed to clamp shut. He watched in horrified fascination as the vaguely-human shape settled on top of one of the outermost goblins. Nothing happened at first, then the shadow seemed to draw itself inward like a closing fist. The unfortunate goblin convulsed silently, its legs and arms flailed briefly, then it fell lifelessly still. The shadow meanwhile, began to pulse and expand to nearly double its original size, as though gorging itself on the lifeforce of its victim.

All around the perimeter of the clearing, similar shapes began to slip out of the night.

Finally a choked yell escaped from the terrified boy. The camp was instantly alert: goblins leapt to their feet bristling with whatever weapons came to hand. Someone threw more brush on the remains of the fire, which sprang back to life. Grol was instantly at the boy's side: he grabbed his hair, yanked his head back and pressed the jagged blade of his knife to Brian's throat. "What you do?" he hissed, an edge of fear in his voice.

Brian pointed wordlessly at the shadows, which had stopped their advance and were hesitating just outside of the firelight. Grol inhaled sharply. "Shadowlings!" he cried to his comrades, pointing with the dagger.

His warning cry was taken up by the others. Several goblins seized clumps of the now blazing brush and rushed at the intruders, brandishing the improvised torches like swords. A thin, keening sound that set Brian's teeth on edge rose up from the shadows, which recoiled from the flames like slugs from salt. Within seconds they had all withdrawn into the darkness and the crisis was over.

A brief survey found three dead: two sentries and the goblin that Brian had seen killed. Nevertheless, from Grol's uncharacteristically upbeat mood, Brian deduced that events could have gone a lot worse. Things quieted down and the goblins returned to their interrupted sleep. New sentries were appointed and Grol made one final tour of the camp, assuring himself that all was now secure. When he came to Brian he paused and handed him a smelly, patchy fur hide of some kind. With nothing more than a grunt, he walked away. Brian lay back down, gratefully clutching the fur around him as he tried, with little success, to go back to sleep.

Morning arrived grudgingly, devoid of warmth or much light. It was as though the season had changed overnight from late summer to mid-autumn. The sky was overcast with greyish-brown clouds that threatened rain at any moment. Gusts of wind bent the tall grasses and sent dry leaves scurrying past. Those that remained on the trees rustled with a forlorn, ghostly whispering.

The goblin party was up and moving with little fuss. To Brian's dismay, no formal breakfast was eaten, though Krul brought him a crusty piece of bread-roll to chew on as they marched. As he had the day before, Grol set a wearying pace in his impatience to deliver the captive to his master. Brian was relieved to find that the ointment and wrappings Krul had provided seemed to be working effectively: even the pain in his stiff, tired muscles subsided once they began to stretch and warm up.

He had just begun to settle into a kind of numb daze, marching with the fur wrapped around him like a shawl, head bowed, eyes fixed on the ground just ahead of him, thinking of nothing but putting one foot in front of the other, when the goblins ahead suddenly halted. Brian was so taken by surprise that he stumbled into the goblin in front of him, who spun around spitting angrily like a cat, sharp teeth bared. Brian mumbled an apology and took a step backward. The goblin moved toward him, hand going to the grip of the dagger on its hip. Brian heard a whistling sound as Grol's whip snaked past his right ear and bit into the arm of the advancing goblin who howled in pain and retreated apace. Grol snarled something unintelligible at him as he hopped about clutching his wounded arm and grimacing. With several withering glances back over his shoulder, the goblin slunk away to disappear back into the ranks.

Brian was just turning to thank his erstwhile defender when the latter's hand smacked into the side of his head, nearly knocking him off his feet and sending a bright white starburst exploding behind his eyes. "Dante be more careful: pay attention. Next time, Grol let Pasha cut you!" the goblin hissed.

Brian watched through watering eyes as the goblins' leader strode to the front of the pack to convene with his scouts. After a while Krul wandered over, a worried look on his ruin of a face. He was carrying a large coil of coarse rope, similar to that which Grol had used to bind Brian on the previous day. Krul squatted beside Brian, muttering something to himself as he uncoiled the rope onto the ground, checking its length for frays.

Assuming the worst, Brian began to protest against being tied up again, but Krul shook his head impatiently. "No, no, no...rope not for tying manchild: rope for climbing."

Brian blinked, uncomprehendingly. "Climbing?" he said incredulously, "Climbing what? There are no mountains and no trees around here."

Krul laughed out loud at that. "Not climb up—climb down!" He said and laughed again, then pointed forward, past where Grol and the others were conferring. "That way is the Wall," his good humour seemed to sour as he spoke, "Grol, stupid grod, in big hurry, say we must go this way instead of safer way, there," he gestured vaguely off to the right.

Feeling a growing unease, Brian asked, "W...what is 'the Wall'?"

Krul grinned mirthlessly. "You will see...come."

Forgetting the swelling lump on the side of his head, Brian blinked the last of the tears from his eyes, struggled to his feet and followed the goblin toward the others. For the first time, Brian became aware of something odd about the landscape ahead: it seemed to stop abruptly, in a fairly straght line from left to right, like the horizon, but much closer than normal. As he approached this line, he felt a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach: beyond that edge the world fell away dizzyingly, plummeting hundreds of metres down and down a nearly vertical face of jagged rock. Brian's parents, before they split up, had taken him and Meredith on a vacation to the United States. They had stopped at the Grand Canyon, which was the biggest hole in the ground that Brian had ever seen. This place made the Grand Canyon look like a ditch.

Meredith was rooting about in the knapsack, looking for something to eat. She had finally insisted that they take a break from the day's gruelling march and Grub grudgingly allowed her ten minutes. Molly lay panting, but content, on a mossy outcropping nearby. To some degree, she was better off than they were: she seemed to have adapted to hunting for her own food, and was locating small puddles, or streams, to drink from. Grub, on the other hand, was finding game sparse. He had managed to bring down a small, quail-like bird which he was saving for supper, but it would make for an exceedingly light meal between the two of them.

To make matters worse, they were having trouble tracking the goblins now that the landscape had turned more rocky and barren. Their quarry seemed to have picked up their pace, so the spoor they left behind was less frequent. Even Molly's nose seemed to be failing them. Grub had become increasingly testy and impatient in the face of this, obviously concerned about their chances of ever finding Brian again. He had doubled their own pace, convinced that any delay now would prove tragic.

Meredith's hand finally closed on a granola bar which she plucked from the pack and held up in triumph. Within seconds she had torn off the foil wrapper and gulped down its contents. Grub gave her a disapproving glare. "Ya'd do well t' go easy, missy: a few days from now ya might be sorry that food's gone. And ya'd best save summ'at fer that brother o' yers...if we e'aer do find 'im." The last comment was muttered under his breath, but Meredith heard it anyway.

"What do you mean, 'if we ever do'?" she bristled. "We probably won't with an attitude like that! What do you care, anyway...the only one you want to find is your precious Darkmoor. Well, I'll tell you something, you little circus freak: if we don't find Brian, there's no way I'm going to help you find your friend." She stuffed the empty wrapper back into the pack in a huff. Her hand came upon another object which she withdrew.

Grub cast her a disdainful look. "Suit yerself, but ya ought'a give some thought t' how ya'll be gettin' back to yer own world, in that case."

Meredith would have been annoyed that the troll had gotten in the last word, if she had heard him, but at that moment she was totally intent upon the object in her hand. It was an ordinary orienteering compass, but it wasn't behaving like any ordinary compass, at least she didn't think so. "Grub," she asked thoughtfully, without raising her gaze. "You have directions in your world, you know: north, west, east, south...don't you?"

The troll cocked his head to one side. "Well, yes...o' course. Why?"

She ignored his question. "And didn't you say that we are travelling east?"

"Yes, well, most o' the time...maybe with a little drift t' the north this last while...," he replied.

"Well, in that case, this compass is pointing east by north-east."

"Lemme see that...."

The troll ran over and snatched the compass from Meredith's hand. He peered closely at it as he slowly turned around one full circle. "Hmph," he said, "must be broke." He handed it back to the girl.

Meredith shook her head. "I don't think so. I think this is Dante's doing, or the staff...or both."

"What do yer mean?"

"I think that this compass is pointing towards Brian."

"That's right, Corporal, it's been over ten hours since we last saw them. Uh-huh. Yeah. No, they've never done anything like this before. Right." Kyle was talking on the cordless phone in the kitchen while his wife and Marilyn looked on anxiously.

"Yeah, the old man said he saw them this morning—mumbled something about them going to "the Border Lands" or some such nonsense. I don't think he's all there, you know. Okay. Fine. See you then. Bye." He hung up the phone and turned to the others.

"Well," he said, soberly, "Corporal Sidhu says he'll swing by here on his way to have a word with Danton and look around a bit. He'll also put the ferry people on alert to watch for the kids, or anyone suspicious trying to leave the island. In the meantime, his partner will check as many of the beaches and the backroads as she can before dark. If that doesn't turn up anything they'll organize a full scale search in the morning."

Marilyn bit her lower lip nervously. Carol said, "Is there anything we can do?"

"Yeah: they're going to want a recent picture of the kids...Marilyn, do you have one?"

"I, I think so...," she answered dully.

Carol put an arm around her shoulders, saying, "Don't worry, Mare. They'll find them...you'll see. It's gonna be okay. C'mon, let's go find that photograph."

Kyle stood there helplessly as the two women shuffled slowly out of the room.

Twenty minutes later a white Ford Explorer with RCMP markings rolled up the driveway and parked behind Marilyn's Accura. After a moment, Corporal Sidhu got out of the truck and made his way up to the verandah where Kyle stood waiting, his wife and sister-in-law hovering in the background. The corporal was a heavy-set man in his early thirties. His jet-black hair and moustache were short and very neat, his dark eyes alert and intelligent. He removed his hat as he approached, and extended his free hand to Kyle, who shook it vigourously.

"Hi, I'm Kyle McLaughlin. Thanks for coming, Corporal...we're getting pretty worried," he said.

Sidhu nodded without smiling. "No problem. May I come in?"

"Certainly—right this way." Kyle stepped back, gesturing for the corporal to enter.

Sidhu nodded again to Carol and Marilyn as he stepped inside and Kyle said, "This is my wife Carol, and her sister, Marilyn Carswell...the kids' mother."

Unable to contain herself any longer, Marilyn blurted, "What are we going to do, officer? I just know something terrible has happened...I should never have let them wander off like that...." Her sentence ended in a choked sob.

Sidhu put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "There, there, madam. Please don't worry. We are doing everything we can. Now please, can we sit down for a moment? I have a few questions I would like to ask."

Carol led them all into the living room and saw them seated. She offered the corporal a coffee, which he declined. Instead, he took out a notepad and a pen and began his interview.

"Mrs. Carswell—is Mr. Carswell visiting as well?"

"No. My husband and I are recently divorced."

"Ah, I see. Forgive me—Ms. Carswell, then." He referred briefly to his notes. "Mr. McLaughlin tells me that your daughter Meredith is thirteen and your son Brian is ten: is that correct?"

"Yes. Brian will be eleven in October." Marilyn paused and then was seized by another fit of sobbing.

Sidhu waited patiently for her to regain her composure, then continued, "Now, the last time you saw them was this morning...at what time?"

Carol spoke up, "They went out for a walk at about eight o'clock."

The corporal raised an eyebrow. "About?" he asked.

Carol flushed, saying, "Well, I don't know exactly...they sort of slipped out while I was working in the garden. Kyle had gone fishing and Marilyn was still in bed." She glanced over at her sister, who looked more miserable than ever.

"Is it normal for them to go off without telling you, Ms. Carswell?"

Marilyn shook her head violently. "No! No...they're good kids. I don't know why they did it...they must have been up to something...."

"And were you concerned when you got up to find them gone?"

Carol interrupted again, "Not at all: they have our dog with them for protection."

Marilyn nodded, then turned to the corporal. "That's right. I just assumed that they had gone exploring, or down to the beach." Her voice suddenly rose in pitch, "Why are you asking us all these questions: we know where they are, that crazy old man has done something to them...why don't you just go over there and get them before it's too late!"

Kyle put his arm around her. "Now, Marilyn...stay calm. Let the corporal do his job."

"But my babies...!" She began to sob uncontrollably.

Sidhu closed his notebook. "Please, I understand how upsetting this must be for you. I'm just trying to make sure I have the facts straight. But you're right: it is time I paid Mr. Danton a visit. But before I go, do you have the photograph I requested?"

"Yes," Kyle pointed to the coffee table, "it's right there."

The corporal picked up the snapshot and nodded approvingly. "Yes. This will do nicely." He tucked it into his notepad and rose to his feet. "Now I must go. Try to stay calm, Ms. Carswell...we will keep you posted on any developments, I promise."

Kyle stood up. "I want to come with you."

Sidhu considered this for a moment. "Well, it's bending the rules, but under the circumstances I don't see any great harm in it...okay, but you will have to wait in the truck."

"Fine."

They went outside and got into the Explorer. Kyle waved at the two women as the corporal backed quickly out of the driveway and headed the truck down the road in a billow of dust.

Somehow Brian had survived the climb down the precipice: unlike two of the goblins. First one, and then another, had fallen screaming to their deaths in a shower of rocks. Brian's fingers were scraped and bleeding, the nails splintered from trying to cling to the slightest of handholds. His jeans had several new tears and so did the skin beneath them. On more than one occasion the only thing that saved Brian from falling was a quick grab by Krul to steady him.

They marched now in grim silence, their pace considerably slowed by the fatigue that sapped them all. Brian stumbled along in a kind of numb daze. His mind had long ago become detached from his physical suffering. It was as though he were two people: one a marching zombie and the other a disembodied observer. Krul watched him with concern, but was powerless to intervene until Grol called the next halt.

The weather and the landscape had changed markedly when they crossed the border into Halflight. The vegetation was brown and dying, the trees gaunt, their red, yellow, and orange leaves dangling tentatively. Even at mid-day, the light was wan and filtered-looking. The sun gave little warmth and there was always wind: it gusted and whistled, chasing thin clouds and dead leaves ahead of it. It seemed to make the goblins nervous, despite their fatigue: after each particularly forceful blast of air they would cast fearful looks about them, scanning the sky and treetops apprehensively.

Struggling through the daze of his misery, Brian asked Krul for an explanation of his comrades' behaviour.

"Spirits of air live here...very dangerous. Stupid Grol: other way much better."

Brian nodded impatiently, "Yeah, yeah, but slower...you told me already. Well I don't believe in spirits!"

Krul gave him a look of pity, as one might give a madman, and said, "Man-child believe soon enough."

It was late afternoon, though the dim light remained so unchanging, there was no real way to judge time, when Brian became aware of a faint, but familiar, sound above the rushing of the wind: crows.

The reaction of the goblins was instant terror. Some threw themselves to the ground trembling, others ran off in several directions. The harsh cawing sounds drew closer. Brian looked over at Krul, who crouched beside him, frozen in place with eyes grown large with fear. "Why is everyone so scared of a bunch of dumb crows?" Brian asked.

Without shifting his skyward gaze, Krul replied, "Not just crows: Storm Crows! Very bad!"

Before Brian could ask for more information, the sky above them erupted in a raucous black cacophony. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of soot-feathered crows suddenly swirled about overhead, dipping and weaving and vocalizing at the top of their lungs. Except for their numbers and their volume, they seemed more annoying than scary to Brian...then he noticed their eyes: they were not the shiny ebon beads of normal crows: they burned an eerie yellow-green, the colour of swamp-gas.

With the arrival of the crows came fresh gusts of wind, stronger than before. Brian felt insistent, invisible fingers plucking at his shirt and hair. Leaves and dust began to swirl upwards around them in an ever-increasing vortex.

The few goblins who had stood their ground, including Grol, snarled their defiance and waved their weapons at the crows. Some even picked up stones and hurled them skyward in a futile gesture. The crows responded by flying even faster, their crazed cawing turning to sinister, mocking laughter. As the wind leapt to a swirling frenzy, Krul abruptly grabbed Brian's arm and dragged him over to the nearest tree. He produced a familiar length of rough rope and proceeded to bind Brian to the trunk by his left wrist. When the boy made to protest, Krul shouted over the roaring of the wind, "No argue...hold tight or you die!"

Having used all of the short bit of rope on Brian, he then wrapped both of his arms around the tree in a desperate embrace and buried his face against the trunk.

Squinting into the turbulent air, Brian saw that the remaining goblins too, were frantically clutching any solid object at hand, their terrified howling drowned out by the noise of wind and crows. As Brian watched, one such was snatched up off the ground by the vortex. The roots of the small bush he was holding on to popped out of the earth in a spray of dirt; the goblin vanished, shrieking, into the malevolent sky.

Brian felt as if his very skin was about to be sucked off, but his greater size and weight so far prevented him from becoming airborne. He heard a moaning sound to his left and turned to see that Krul was not so lucky: the young goblin's body was now parallel to the ground as the wind sought to tear him away from the tree.

As Brian began to move toward him, Krul's left hand lost its grip and his arm flailed about helplessly. For an instant his frightened eyes locked on Brian's own, and then his other hand tore free as well. Brian's right hand shot out instinctively as the goblin flew past him and, miraculously, caught hold of Krul's left wrist. Brian clenched his teeth with effort, straining to hang on. He was dimly aware of the the goblin's sharp nails biting into his flesh, but he paid them no heed. Sharp pains began to shoot up his arm, which felt as though it were being torn from its socket. His left wrist was in agony too, where the rope was beginning to cut into it. He thought he was going to split in two at any moment.

And then the wind stopped.

They both fell heavily to the ground and lay there, gasping. Brian couldn't feel anything in his arms at first, then sensation returned in a cascade of fiery needles. Through pain-dimmed eyes he saw Krul crawling laboriously towards him. When he drew up even with Brian, the goblin, breathing heavily, said: "You...saved Krul...now Krul save you..." With that he drew his knife and quickly sawed through the rope binding Brian to the tree. The effort nearly exhausted him.

Brian looked from the goblin to the dangling rope and back again, uncomprehending. Krul gestured urgently with one hand. "Go...go now! Quick, before Grol sees. Krul say wind took you...go!"

Brian staggered to his feet, still not certain. He had given up the thought of escape so long ago that he was having trouble believing it was now possible. He glanced around, certain that someone would be watching and would try to stop him.

No one was. No one did.

The rest of the goblins were scattered, or lying about moaning, completely preoccupied with their own suffering.

Brian took a step backward, then another. Krul continued to wave him on. Brian slowly turned and began a staggering run, fell once, but got up again and kept going, gathering speed. Branches clutched at his legs like skeletal limbs, treacherous rocks sprang up to block his feet, spiderwebs attempted to gag and blind him, but still he ran. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't care. All he knew was he had to get away...away from them. He had to go someplace where they couldn't find him...a place where he could hide.

He darted around the bole of a big tree and Grol stepped out from the other side, blocking his path. Brian hauled up short, but before he could do anything more, the head goblin struck him backhanded, across the face, sending him sprawling backwards. He lay there on his back amongst the brittle, dry grass, his head full of bright, popping lights and waves of blackness. His vision swimming, he was vaguely aware of Grol looming over him. Hands grabbed him roughly by the front of his t-shirt. The goblin thrust his ugly face close to Brian's, his stinking breath washed over the boy in waves, making him feel even fainter.

"Next time Dante try to escape...Dante dies!" he said, menacingly.

Then everything went mercifully black.

"You've got to be kidding!" Meredith said, standing on the edge of the rift, leaning on her staff and staring out into the windy void in disbelief. "They can't have gone this way. How are we supposed to get down, let alone Molly?"

The dog, who had been sniffing the air speculatively, raised her head and began to wag her tail at the mention of her name.

Grub scowled and threw up his hands in exasperation. "Look, girl...I told ya a'fore: the farther ahead they get ahead o' us, the greater the chance that we may lose the trail. If they cross over water in boats or somethin', we've had it."

Hands on hips, Meredith struck a stubborn stance that had become all too familiar to the troll. "It won't do Brian any good if we get killed in the process of trying to catch up! Now, is there another way we can go, or not?"

Grub stared at his feet and mumbled, "Yeah..."

"What?" prodded Meredith.

"Yeah, there's another way...t' the south a bit. It's much less steep, but it's gonna cost us half a day! I think we should leave the dog here and climb down the cliff: ya an' I could make it."

"Leave Molly?" Meredith cried, outraged, "No way! Forget it. Where we go, she goes, and we're not goin' down there." She inclined her head towards the rift.

The troll held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay: ya win...again! We'll head south, but we're gonna have t' double our speed, or ya can forget about ever seein' yer brother again."

Pleased with herself for prevailing upon the stubborn little troll, but worried about the possible ramifications of her decision, Meredith signalled Molly to follow as Grub set out again at the promised, brutal pace.

As Grub had indicated, the landscape gradually transformed itself into a less daunting series of step-like plateaus. Negotiating these proved difficult enough, but was a far cry easier than the sheer canyon walls they had faced earlier.

That is not to say that their passage was without its toll: Meredith had a badly scraped elbow and a sore left wrist, Grub had come dangerously near spraining his ankle which he now favored as he walked, and even Mollie had managed to pull a muscle in one of her hind legs and was now running with an odd, intermittent limp. They were all worn out from the effort, but Grub was unrelenting in his insistence that they keep moving. Although she was dying for a rest, Meredith suffered in silence: she knew that they had lost time because she had demanded they come this way...now she must pay the price of her choice.

The day wore miserably on and the landscape gradually became less barren. They were now wandering amongst widely-spaced oaks that could not rightly be called a forest, but were a welcome relief from bare rock. Between the trees was a carpet of dry yellow grass, covered in turn by a steadily falling rain of coloured leaves. A cool breeze rustled through these keeping them in constant motion. The air was fresh, but with a musty, underlying smell of decay. It was a smell that Meredith associated strongly with Halloween.

When Grub finally called a halt for lunch, Meredith dropped the staff, slung off the pack and collapsed into the nearest patch of grass and leaves. She lay there unmoving for the longest time, savoring the sensation in her relaxing muscles, her eyes closed and face raised up to the wan sun. She could have easily drifted off to sleep if it hadn't been for the nagging hunger in her belly and the dryness in her throat. Reluctantly, she hauled herself up on one elbow and looked to see what Grub was up to. The troll was munching on a large root of some kind and washing it down with occasional judicious sips of water.

When he became aware of her watching, he asked Meredith, "Want one? They're not ha' bad...really."

The grumbling of her stomach over-ruled Meredith's natural reservation. "Well, okay...I guess."

Somewhat surprised, he hurried to hand her a root, brushing off a bit of residual dirt, first.

Meredith turned the root over in her hand, a look of distaste on her face. She gave it a tentative sniff, but it had no discernible odour, except a faint, earthy smell. Cautiously, she took a bite. The flesh was yellow and firm—almost crunchy—and the taste was an intriguing blend of carrot and ginger. Within seconds Meredith had finished the first one and was pestering Grub for another. She washed them both down with a few small gulps of water from the rapidly-depleting skin.

Relaxed and relatively contented, she lay back langourously against a log and stretched her sore, tired muscles. Her right hand stroked Molly's head absently, giving them both comfort. Even Grub seemed more at ease than usual, his thick arms folded behind his head.

Meredith watched him speculatively for a moment, then asked, "What's he really like...Darkmoor, I mean."

"Huh?" The troll was startled out of his own reflections. "Oh, Darkmoor...well, next t' Dante he'd be about the finest human I've ever known. Watched 'im grow up, I did. Seems like yesterday 'e was just a squallin' pup!" He shook his head wonderingly, gazing vaguely skyward.

"What was it like in those days?" asked Meredith. "I mean, this place..," she gestured expansively at her surroundings, "did it look different?"

The troll pursed his lips and shook his head slowly, his earing jiggling slightly. "Well, it's hard t' say: as I recall, it just looked more...alive. There's somethin' wrong about the way things are now...somehow everythin' just looks...poisoned." He cleared his throat and spat, as though to emphasize the point. "The worst thing is," he continued, "all the infernal creatures that've crept through the Portal...they just ain't natural!" He gave a small shudder, as though remembering some particularly unpleasant encounter.

Meredith thought about what he had said. "Can it ever be the same again, do you think?" she asked.

Grub shrugged. "Who knows? All's I know is if ya cut away the rot—right t' its source—sometimes ya can save the plant. The same may be true fer a world...don't ya think?"

"I guess...." Meredith began, but she was cut off by a loud voice from just behind them.

"Ahh, Meredith, Grub...there you are! I had the Devil's own time finding you! It was far more difficult than I had imagined."

The travellers were galvanized into action: Molly leapt to her feet, growling, Grub grabbed for the nearest broken branch, and Meredith instinctively clutched for the staff. They all stared fixedly at the intruder.

He was a bizarre-looking individual, short of stature, wearing long orange and brown robes that seemed to be made of suede or some similar material. Strange symbols and runes were emblazoned onto the robes in a glimmering gold material. On his head was an odd leather hat with flaps on the side that hung down, completely obscuring his hair. He peered at them through a pair of glasses with thick, pop-bottle bottom lenses.

"Who the 'ell are ya? An' how do ya know our names?" demanded the troll.

The stranger smiled tolerantly. "Well, you see, we've already met...in your future!" He laughed merrily, seeming to enjoy the others' confusion.

Grub and Meredith exchanged dubious looks and Meredith asked, "What are you talking about?"

The man ignored her. "I've been wandering around for hours trying to find you: it's much harder, you know, when you have to worry about the 'when', as well as the 'where'! My feet are killing me...mind if I join you?"

Without waiting for an answer, the man stepped towards them, pausing in front of Molly, who was still growling low in her throat. "Molly, my good girl," he said, soothingly, "there, there...don't be frightened: I won't hurt you. I've come to help you. Here, look: I brought you the present that Meredith asked me to. See?" He reached into one of several huge pockets in his coat and pulled out a large bone with plenty of meat still on it. Molly's eyes looked like they were about to start from their sockets. She licked her jowls and began to wag her tail enthusiastically.

The stranger handed over his present, which Molly cautiously accepted and then took herself off to one side to gnaw it.

Leaning on her staff, with one hand on her hip, Meredith said, "I never asked you to bring her a bone!"

The stranger settled himself down on a comfortable patch of dry grass. He looked at her, unperturbed. "No,..but you will," he said.

He took off his thick glasses and began to clean them with a crumpled handkerchief. When he was done, he placed them back on and blinked at Meredith and Grub owlishly. "Well, come on," he chided them, mildly irritated, "don't just stand there gaping...sit back down so we can get on with our business."

Meredith returned to her spot as Grub dropped slowly to his haunches and placed the branch within easy reach. "And what business might that be?" he asked, suspiciously.

The man, seemingly offended, tilted his nose upward, saying, "May I remind you: I am here at your request, and on your behalf."

"You can't remind me of somethin' I've never done!" growled the troll.

The stranger considered this for a moment. "Hmm, too true. All this coming and going has got me a little confused. I keep forgetting that you people are travelling the other way through time. Nevermind: allow me to explain again: I am a student of the Natural Laws. For years I studied the secrets of the Universe, striving to make sense of it all...until finally I stumbled upon the equation that explains it all, balances Time, Space and Reality. I had found the answer to the Ultimate Question!" he fixed Meredith with a sharp look. "And don't try to tell me that it's 'forty-two': I've read that book—and every other one that was ever written—so you can't fool me!"

He paused for a second, as though he had lost the thread of his story, then abruptly resumed. "Once I discovered the Oneness I was free: I could travel anywhere and anywhen I wanted, with no more effort than it takes to think about it. At the moment I am researching the properties of causality and have found that the best way to do so is to experience events backwards...at least in the normal sense, since in reality there is no past or present, here or there: it simply all is. Simultaneously. But you wouldn't understand."

"That's fer sure," muttered Grub under his breath, clearly unimpressed by their guest.

The stranger continued undeterred. "In any case, my most recent travels brought me to a clearing in a wintery land where a group of people had just come through a dreadful and tragic experience."

"It was us, right? In the future? What happens to us?" Meredith demanded.

The stranger held up his hand for silence. "Ahh, I wish I could say. But for your sakes it is best that I do not. One thing that I have learned is that when one wants to alter the flow of Time, it is best to do so subtley: broad foreknowledge only leads to unpredictable results...sometimes making things much worse than they would otherwise have been. No, you must trust me in this. Once they learned about me, your future selves begged me to bear you a message. It is a very simple one, but more vital than you can imagine. This is it: 'choose the arrows'."

"What?" Meredith nearly shrieked. "What does that mean? What arrows?"

The stranger smiled his annoying, all-knowing smile. "You will know when the time comes."

He pulled a pocket watch out on a long, gold chain and checked the time. Then he took out a notebook and a fountain pen and scribbled furiously in it for a moment. At last he put everything away and sprang to his feet. "Well, I must be off! My work here is done. It was delightful meeting you again...good luck with your journey, I do so hope that things work out better for you this time. Cheerio!"

With that he strode off the way they had come, leaving a contented dog and two very confused individuals behind him as he went.

Several hours later they came upon the corpses. Goblin corpses. They were scattered across the landscape as though a giant hand had sown them like seed. Some even dangled forlornly from the skeletal branches of trees. Meredith's control dissolved after the third body.

"Oh my God!" she cried, putting her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide and frightened, "They're all dead! Something terrible happened to them...it must've happened to Brian too! I just know we're going to find his body around here somewhere...." She began to sob uncontrollably, the fatigue and hardship of the last two days catching up with her.

Grub put a reassuring hand on her arm. "Now, now...don't be jumpin' t' no conclusions just yet. There be more than three o' them in that troop, judgin' by the mess they've left behind along the way. No, 'looks t' me like they ran afoul o' Storm Crows, but most o' them survived—look: see how their trail picks up again over there? And see there: someone secured 'emself to a tree with that bit o' rope, there."

Meredith scrubbed away tears with her fist and peered in the direction he indicated. "But it looks like the rope broke: doesn't that mean something bad happened to him, whoever he was?"

Grub shook his head. "Nah, it n'aer broke: it's been cut...see the ends? No, I'm sure o' it: most of 'em walked away from this."

Molly, who had been sniffing tentatively at one of the corpses, suddenly began to whine and paw at something on the ground in a clump of brush.

"What is it, girl?" Meredith asked, going over to see. There was definitely something half-concealed there in the grass: something silvery and metallic, gleaming dully in the weak light. With a gasp of recognition she bent and picked it up. "Grub! Look! It's Brian's pendant." She said excitedly, then her shoulders slumped. "But is this a good sign, or a bad one?"

"A good one, I'd say...that belonged t' Dante: the goblins would a' recognized it. One o' them would o' taken it off yer brother soon as they saw it. Must o' dropped it in the confusion." Suddenly he slapped a palm to his forehead. "Of course! Why didn't I think o' it a'fore: they think Brian is Dante! Damn fools."

Meredith looked skeptical. "How could they mistake a boy for an old man?"

"Dante's a wizard: he can look like whatever he wants!"

"Oh."

Meredith slipped the dragon pendant into her pack, broken chain and all. Then she said, "So, what exactly are Storm Crows?"

Grub scowled, then spat. "Bah! They're disgustin' creatures. Come from the Portal they did, years ago. Bigger'n regular crows, with weird, unholy eyes. They're carrion-feeders, but they're clever and evil enough t' create their own carrion...if ya know what I mean."

Meredith looked repulsed and confused at the same time. "Crows could do this?" She swept her arm to indicate the bodies. "How?"

"They work together, but there's more 'n that t' it: sumpthin' supernatural involved, I'd say. Anyway, somehow they whip up one 'elluva windstorm that can toss a grown man around like a kiddie's doll if there's enough o' them in the flock. Fortunately for Brian, looks as if this was a smallish flock."

Meredith glanced nervously at the sky. "Shouldn't we be getting out of here?"

Grub nodded vigourously. "Not a bad idea. Just let me search the bodies fer anything valuable, like food—not that I'd care to eat goblin food, but we may get desperate afore we're through."

He did as he said and they quickly moved on, leaving that desolate scene to the leaves and the sighing wind.

They had gone a good ways further and a deeper twilight was beginning to settle over that permanently twilit land, when Meredith thought she heard something. She stopped and signalled Grub for silence. They both listened carefully until the sound came again: the distant baying of hounds. Molly pricked her ears and growled.

"Dogs?" asked Meredith.

Grub blanched as comprehension dawned. "Aye. But I've not run into the likes o' them in this part o' the world a'fore."

The baying grew steadily louder and soon they could make out another, underlying sound.

"Hoofbeats!" said Meredith.

"Right again," replied the troll, looking concerned. "We'd best step t' one side. Get the dog."

Meredith called Molly and took a firm grip of her collar. They moved a short distance off of the path they had been following and put their backs to a large tree. Then they waited.

They didn't wait long. Within moments the barking of the dogs became deafening and the pounding of hooves shook the forest floor and vibrated through the tree. More leaves drifted downward.

The first dog flashed past them, braked suddenly, and doubled back to the point where they had left the trail, snuffling intently at the ground.

"Oh my God!" gasped Meredith.

The dog's head snapped up at that slight sound and its feral eyes locked onto them where they huddled against the tree. It began to growl menacingly, its long white fangs glistening in the light of the rising moon.

"Don't move!" hissed Grub to Meredith.

A dozen more dogs burst onto the scene in a pandemonium of barking, sniffing and growling. They were long, loping beasts like greyhounds, but heavier-set and much fiercer looking. They ran with their heads down, close to the ground, scenting their quarry. Now they milled about in confusion and snarled at Meredith and Grub, but did not approach them.

Clutching the collar, Meredith half-expected Molly to lunge at them, but the border collie dropped into her characteristic crouch as though sensing that confrontation was not the best option. With her other hand, Meredith clung tightly to the staff, taking comfort in its familiar thrumming. Grub stood unmoving, but his muscles were tensed for action.

The rider arrived in a whirl of dust and leaves. His horse was a huge beast, almost twice Meredith's height at the shoulder and a dappled white in colour. Its every movement, though graceful, suggested tightly controlled power. Sweat rolled off its flanks in rivulets and air rushed in and out of its flaring nostrils. Foam flecked its black lips. It reared up, whinnying, as the rider hauled back on the bridle, desperately trying to avoid trampling his dogs.

He wore the garb of a huntsman: leather jerkin, pants and gloves and boots. Unlike any ordinary huntsman, however, he also wore a conical iron helmet. Its nose-piece and face-guard effectively concealed most of the man's upper face, just as a bristling red beard concealed the lower portion. He was big, like his horse, and he held a loaded crossbow in his right hand. He quickly surveyed the situation as he fought to master his horse, then he raised the crossbow to point directly at Grub.

Without thinking, Meredith stepped in front of the troll, the staff upraised. "Stop!" she cried, "What do you think you're doing?" Her voice, though angry, quavered slightly with fear.

The huntsman hesitated, then lifted the crossbow skyward. Leaning back in his saddle he said, "What the...why the hell would you protect a goblin?" His voice was deep and gruff. "I took you for this hellspawn's prisoner. Whatever you are, stand aside, damn you!" He levelled the weapon at Grub once more.

"No!" Meredith continued to block his shot. "He's not a goblin anyway: he's a troll!"

The huntsman leaned forward, trying to get a better look. With a reluctant grunt, he lowered the crossbow. He growled something to the dogs, who spun about and were gone. They swept away and out of sight, taking their uproar with them. The rider gave Meredith and Grub one last penetrating look. "Beware: there be goblins about!" he muttered, then turned and spurred his great horse after the dogs.

The evening fell silent with their passing.

The white RCMP Explorer crept up the the gravel drive to Danton's house and stopped. Kyle was secretly disappointed that they hadn't used the lights and siren. He reached for the doorhandle, but Corporal Sidhu' put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"You wait here, Mr. McLaughlin: your presence during questioning might be, uh...counterproductive."

"But...." Kyle started to argue, but a stern look from the corporal cut him off. He lapsed into grudging silence.

The corporal, satisfied that Kyle would behave, stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door with a solid "clunk". He walked slowly around the front of the truck, paused with his hands on his hips to survey the house, then started up the steps.

Roc, the crow, dropped on him from nowhere, pecking and raking at him with its talons. Instinctively, Sidhu threw up his arms in defense, beating at his attacker with open palms. When this had no effect, the constable was forced to retreat back to the driveway. Roc abandoned his assault and flew back up the safety of the eaves.

Cursing under his breath, Sidhu pulled out a cloth handkerchief and daubed at the minor scratches that now criss-crossed his scalp, neck and hands. Without looking for Kyle's reaction, the corporal raised his voice and said, "Mr. Danton! Mr. Danton, can you hear me?" He paused for a moment, searching the windows for a sign of movement. There was none. "Mr. Danton, this is Corporal Sidhu of the Gabriola RCMP. I would like to talk with you, sir...I have a few questions to ask you about a police matter, but your pet is preventing me from approaching." Sidhu felt more than a little foolish about that last part. "Please come out of the house, Mr. Danton."

For awhile the only sound was the buzzing of the August yellow-jackets as they ran sorties in search of food and building materials. Tall cosmos swayed lazily in the early evening breeze which also caused an old, weathered rocking chair on the verandah to stir occasionally. Finally, there was movement inside the house and the screen door swung open to reveal Dante as he shuffled forward, still wearing the same overalls from the day before. He paused at the edge of the verandah, looked at Sidhu, the Explorer and Kyle, then looked up at Roc. With a sharp glance at Sidhu, he said, "He's not a raven, you fool: he's a crow." He turned back to the bird and made a sharp sideways motion with his hand. The crow gave a short croak of protest, or aknowledgement, and retreated to a tree branch across the yard.

Satisfied, Dante moved over to the rocking chair and laboriously settled himself into it. Finally, once he was settled, he looked up at Sidhu who was still standing in the driveway, and said, "I assume you are here about the children."

Sidhu's face registered his surprise before he composed it once more. "Uh, yes...actually: have you seen either of these two?" He stepped up onto the verandah, with a wary glance in Roc's direction, and proceeded to take out the photographs of Meredith and Brian. He held them out to the old man.

Dante squinted briefly at the pictures and waved them aside. "Yes, of course I have: the boy yesterday, and the girl this morning," he said, matter-of-factly.

"And do you know where they are now?" Sidhu persisted.

Dante looked up at the corporal with raised eyebrows. In a flat, emotionless voice he said, "They have gone over...to the other side. And the dog, too."

The corporal's face clouded. "Do you mean they're dead?" he demanded.

Dante scowled impatiently, "No, no, no...at least, not that I know of." His face fell suddenly and he became morose. "Though it is a very definite possibility." He stared off into space, thoughtfully.

Sidhu stepped in front of the old man, purposely invading his line of sight. He bent over and put both hands on the arms of the rocking chair, looking directly into Dante's eyes. "Mr. Danton, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you be more specific: what do you mean, 'gone over'? Where is 'the other side'?

Dante closed his eyes and sighed heavily. When he reopened them, he said, "I will explain it, but you will not believe me."

"Try me."

Dante, seeing the determination in the man's eyes, said, "Very well. To 'go over' to the other side means to pass through a portal to another world...in this case to one called Fraeland, though there are countless others."

The corporal looked dubious. "And this...Fray-land, it's not part of the Earth?"

Dante looked at him as though he were a particularly dull child. "That's correct."

"And where is this so-called 'portal'?"

"There are two of them, in fact there are millions. But the boy went through just one of them: a pond in the woods, and the girl went through another: a mirror inside," he gestured at the house behind him.

Sidhu straightened up, his mouth tight with anger. "Mr. Danton, it is a serious offence to obstruct a police investigation, and that is precisely what you are doing, sir, with all this nonsense about other worlds and portals. Whether you are directly involved with foul play or not, there are very strict penalties for aiding and abetting kidnapping or murder. Now I'm going to ask you again: where are the children?"

Dante stared at his lap. "I told you you wouldn't believe me," he muttered.

"Very well, have it your way. May I have a look around inside? You may refuse me, but I can assure you that I will be back with a court order within the hour if you do."

Dante waved a hand dismissively. "Go ahead, I have nothing to hide."

With a nod at Kyle in the Explorer, Corporal Sidhu made his way into the house.

He emerged a short while later carrying several objects in a clear, plastic bag: they were a glass, two teacups and a rawhide chewstick. He held them up for Dante to see. "You seem to have been doing some entertaining, Mr. Danton...either that, or you're a lousy housekeeper. Judging from the rest of the place, I don't think that is the case. Do you have a dog, Mr. Danton?"

Dante shook his head wearily. "No, I do not have a dog. And yes, I have been entertaining: the boy had lemonade and cookies yesterday while the dog chewed the stick, and today the girl had tea and cookies. I already admitted to seeing them, you know...."

"Well, that will be all for now, Mr. Danton. I'll be back to ask you some more questions tomorrow, as well as some other officers who will want to take a closer look around. Please do not attempt to leave the Island in the meantime, if you don't mind."

"I have nowhere to go."

With a satisfied grunt, Corporal Sidhu made his way back to the Explorer and got in.

"Well, what did he say?" asked Kyle anxiously.

Sidhu frowned. "Plenty...and nothing at all. I'm not sure what we're dealing with here...maybe just harmless senility. It seems pretty certain that he actually did see Brian and Meredith, and that they were in his house. But all this talk of other worlds...I don't know. He may be covering for someone else, or he may just be delusional."

"Well aren't you going to arrest him?"

"Can't. At least not yet. Not enough evidence. And the kids haven't been missing long enough. What I will do, though, is organize a search party: we're going to have to go over every inch of this island with a fine-toothed comb. Particularly this area. You're welcome to join in if you'd like to."

Kyle nodded vigorously. "You're damned right I would. When can we get started?"

Sidhu looked skeptically at the darkening sky. "I'm going to have to call Nanaimo for help: it'd be nightfall by the time they got over here. The formal search will have to wait until first light tomorrow, but you and I could have an initial look around between here and your property."

"Sounds good to me!" Kyle replied enthusiastically.

Corporal Sidhu put his bag of evidence away in the back and reached for a powerful flashlight. "We'll need this in the woods," he said, then added, "I think I'll ask for some dogs to join the search tomorrow."

They got out of the truck and Sidhu called out to Dante, who was still rocking despondently on the verandah, "We're just going to have a look around your property, Mr. Danton: is that all right?"

The old man gave them another dismissive wave of his hand.

Kyle responded with an icy glare.

Sensing the potential for an unpleasant confrontation, Corporal Sidhu put a hand on Kyle's shoulder saying, "Let's go: it's not getting any lighter."

Together they marched off down the trail into the woods, looking for answers.

Chapter Five

Krul was the first to hear the baying of the hounds, and that is ultimately what saved his life. The goblins had stopped for the mid-day rest break and were scattered in disarray about the landscape: some eating, some sleeping, and others talking or fighting amongst themselves. They had all been on edge since the encounter with the Storm Crows, so they had doubled the number of sentries on patrol around the perfunctory camp. Krul was one of these.

He was stationed at the western periphery: high in the naked branches of a withered oak so as to have a better view of the surrounding countryside. The weather was gloomy: dark-bellied clouds loomed overhead, casting down sheets of unrelenting rain. There was a distinct chill in the air now that they were getting closer to the Frozen Wastes: snow would not be far off.

Krul was chewing absently on strip of jerky when he heard the first faint barking sound that sent a chill of terror down his spine. He recognized it for what it was immediately, for he had heard it years before and in his nightmares every night since. He knew it for the sound of Death.

There was no point in warning the others: they were already doomed. There was nothing they could do to avoid the terrible fate that was now rushing with dripping jaws and lolling tongues towards them. If he acted quickly, he alone might escape with his life.

Ignoring the height, he dropped out of the tree to the ground. He landed badly, felt something in his ankle snap like a brittle piece of kindling. He rolled, stifling a scream, and lurched to his feet, favouring the injured one. The young goblin began a staggering, limping run through the camp, away from the approaching doom. Several others cast him questioning glances, alarm beginning to register on their hideous faces. Krul ignored them all, his eyes fixed straight ahead, his teeth clenched against the pain.

He soon came to the place where the man-child, Bry-an, sat slumped against a tree, barely conscious, his hands and feet bound to prevent any further attempts at escape. Grol himself crouched nearby, devouring a haunch of rabbit—raw...there had been no time to cook it—and keeping a wary eye on his surroundings and his captive. He spotted Krul and blurted through a mouthful of rabbit, "Hey! What wrong?"

The wisest action would have been to continue right past—Krul knew that—and initially that had been his plan, but seeing Bry-an lying there, helpless, had changed all that. Normally, since he was not a goblin, the man-child would have been in no danger: neither the hounds nor their terrible Master would hurt him. But Bry-an had spent two-and-a-half days and nights living in the close company of goblins, eating their food, wrapped in their scrap of fur while he slept and marched. To the dogs he would now smell like just another goblin...and that would mean his death. The man-child had risked his life to save Krul from the Storm Crows: he knew that he could do no less, now.

That decided, he took a most unprecedented action: he limped up to the head goblin and punched him as hard as he could in the stomach.

Caught completely off-guard, Grol folded with a pained grunt and dropped to his knees.

Without breaking his forward motion, Krul pulled out a knife and quickly sawed through the ropes binding Brian's hands and feet.

The baying of the Pack was much louder now, as were the dying screams of the first sentries they encountered. In the distance, a vague, thunder-like rumble could be heard.

All his hair beginning to stand on end, Krul shook Brian by the collar, then gave his face a slap to rouse him. Brian's eyes started open as he came sputtering to consciousness.

"Wh...what...what's happening?" he stammered.

Krul yanked him to his feet. Behind them they could hear Grol struggling to breathe in short, ragged gasps.

"No time! Run, now...or die!" snarled Krul in Brian's ear.

Something in the goblin's tone touched some primordial instinct for survival deep inside of Brian: with his last reserves of energy, he forced his legs to move. The two of them began to run—if you could call it running—heads bowed, eyes wide with stark terror. Krul wasn't sure which he feared more: the hounds, or Grol's mortal wrath. At least death by the hounds would be faster.

They reached the eastern perimeter of the camp, where they staggered past two sentries running to battle with drawn weapons. Krul turned slightly northward; away from the trail the troop had been following to the Frozen Wastes and the Ice Fortress. They crashed through the sparse undergrowth, dodging between skeletal trees and stumbling over boulders and clumps of grass. Bramble bushes tore at their legs and arms, but went unheeded in their desperate desire to flee.

The sound of screaming goblins reached a crescendo behind them: both Brian and Krul wanted to cover their ears to shut out the horror, but dared not do anything that might slow them down.

Then suddenly, the screaming stopped.

The silence that followed was worse.

They came to a narrow stream that wound its sluggish way through the landscape. Krul seemed hugely relieved: he slapped Brian on the back, saying, "Hurry: soon they find tracks...we must hide safe."

He guided Brian into the water and they began to wade downstream. The icy chill actually felt good on Brian's tormented feet and legs, but as they numbed he found it increasingly difficult to walk. The stream merged unexpectedly into a small lake, its shallow, muddy shore a tangle of bullrushes and weeds. Grinning a desperate death's grimace of a grin, Krul hissed, "We lucky...may live yet! Take this." He snapped off a piece of reed the length of Brian's arm and handed the hollow tube to the boy. Then he grabbed one for himself.

The dogs had begun to bay again...much closer, now.

The goblin clenched the reed between his teeth to free his hands. "Pick up big rock," he instructed, doing so himself. Brian put his own reed in his mouth, reached down into the icy water at the stream's mouth and located a stone the size of a football. He was just barely able to lift it.

"Good, good." Krul nodded his encouragement. "Now, come deeper...do this!"

With that, he shifted the reed in his mouth like a straw, held the stone close to his chest, and fell over backward into the muddy water. Brian watched in dismay as the goblin vanished from sight, save for a few centimetres of reed sticking above the surface. There's no way I'm gonna do that, he thought to himself, but then he remembered the screams of the goblins as they died. The baying of the hounds was becoming deafening.

Finally, one fear won over the other: Brian followed the goblin's lead and flopped, back-first, into the lake.

The initial shock of the cold nearly caused him to inhale the reed. Frigid water rushed into his ears and up his nostrils causing him to sputter and choke. He very nearly jumped back up out of the water, but through sheer force of will, he calmed himself and gained control of his breathing. The weight of the rock kept him firmly on the bottom, but his legs kept wanting to float up to the surface: he was forced to bend his knees and dig the toes of his runners into the muddy bottom in order to hold them there.

He was blind: his eyes clenched tight against the murky water, but his hearing was amplified. He heard barking that sounded like explosions going off all around him. Bodies splashed and gurgled in the water: he felt certain that a dog would step right on him at any moment. Panic threatened to overcome him entirely.

After an eternity of tension and discomfort, he heard a man's deep voice shout a command and everything grew still. Now the only sounds were the pounding of his own heart and the twin roaring of his breathing through the reed and the blood rushing through his ears. He waited.

He waited some more.

Finally, just when he was about ready to scream, he felt movement in the water beside him and a hand groped for his shoulder. Krul's voice came to him. "Okay now, Bry-an. We safe."

Brian pushed the rock off of his chest and bobbed to the surface like a cork, coughing and knuckling the water out of his face and eyes.

There was Krul, bedraggled and sodden, but over-joyed to be alive.

Night had fallen, bringing with it driving rain and wind. Meredith and Grub still hadn't found a suitable campsite, and now they were soaked through and chilled to the bone. Meredith had put the pack back in the plastic bag to try to protect their supplies from the worst of the damp, but the bag was much more difficult and tiring to carry. Even Grub took a turn with the bag slung over his shoulder; ever since the encounter with the Huntsman, he had been uncharacteristically quiet and compliant.

Molly plodded along beside them, sodden and miserable. She blinked pathetically as rainwater dripped into her eyes. Suddenly she stopped and shook herself violently, sending a spray of water in every direction. With a cry of protest, Grub turned his face away, holding up his hands to ward off the worst of it. "Bloody dog!" he shouted. "I'm wet enough wit' out yer help, thank ya very much!" A large drop formed on the end of the troll's bulbous nose, hung there for a moment, and then fell to earth.

"Don't yell at her: we're all wet, you know!" Meredith bridled. "I told you we should've camped under those trees back there."

The troll snorted. "Bah. They would've given precious little protection from this rain." He clasped his vest tighter with his free hand and trudged on.

They crested a gentle hill and Meredith paused there, straining to see through the sheets of rain and the darkness. Finally she became aware of a faint orange glow in the distance. She caught hold of Grub's arm as he passed. "Wait, a second," she said, "look over there. Isn't that a house down in the valley?"

The troll peered into the night, one hand sheltering his eyes from the rain. "Hmmm, I think ya may be right, girl. Anyway, it's worth havin' a look: we aren't gettin' any drier standin' 'ere!"

Hope rising, they set forth in the new direction.

The firelight shining through the windows of the cottage beckoned them on like moths. As they approached, they became aware of an irregular, metallic, ringing sound. The noise came and went as the capricious wind carried it to them one moment, and snatched it away the next. Within minutes they arrived at their goal. Only then did they pause, breathing heavily from exertion, to stand and examine their find. It was a modest structure with a shake roof and siding. A rustic stone chimney streamed smoke into the night, with the promise of warmth, light, and a hot meal.

The ringing sound, which had resolved itself at close range to the clanging of hammer on anvil, came from a small out-building: a smithy. It too, had a smoking chimney, but this one was a metal flue. The thick-paned, leaded windows on either side of the massive door glowed with the steady orange-yellow light of the forge. A pile of scrap metal lay rusting at the corner of the building.

Meredith looked at Grub uncertainly. "What should we do?" she asked.

He frowned. "Well, we don't have much choice: if we don't get outta this weather soon, we're gonna catch our death o' colds!" He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Just the same, I think we should 'ave a wee peek a'fore we start knockin'...don't ya?"

Meredith nodded vigourously.

"Fine. Ya wait here with the mutt—keep 'er quiet, mind ya!"

Meredith crouched down beside Molly and grasped her collar securely, ready to hold her muzzle if she should decide to bark.

Grub crept cautiously forward to the right hand window. He strained to raise himself up enough to see in. Meredith suddenly realized that she would have been a better choice for the job, because of her greater stature.

The troll teetered on his tip-toes for a few seconds before ducking down and beckoning Meredith onward.

When she reached his side, still clutching Molly's collar, he whispered irritably, " I can't see a damned thing...ya 'ave a go."

Meredith nodded and stepped up to the window. Slowly, she poked her nose past the frame and peeked into the smithy. A big man was working in front of the forge, his back turned to Meredith. With powerful, controlled motions, he swung a massive hammer against something on the anvil. Sparks flew each time the hammer fell.

He stopped hammering.

Meredith caught her breath. With mounting alarm she tried to tear her self away from the window, but remained there, transfixed.

The man slowly turned his head around to stare directly back at her.

With a small shriek, Meredith staggered back from the window, almost losing her footing in the mud.

Grub looked at her in alarm. "What is it? What did you see?" he demanded.

Before she could answer, the door flew open. Firelight spilled into their faces, blinding them temporarily. The doorway was filled with the silhouetted figure of a man: bare-chested and muscular. He held a hammer in one meaty fist. As her eyes adjusted, Meredith could see that he was slightly balding, but what hair remained was heavy, long and greasy. His face was a ruin of crags and pocks, his eyes heavy-lidded and calculating. Sweat glistened all over his exposed skin, which was smeared liberally with soot and grime. If he was surprised to find a girl, a troll and a dog on his doorstep in the middle of the night, he didn't show it.

"Whadd'ya want?" he asked, suspicion plain in his voice.

Molly began to growl, her body turning rigid.

Grub spoke up first. "Sorry t' disturb ya, sir...we was wondrin' if ya might be kind enough t' give us shelter fer the night? If it's not too much trouble...."

The blacksmith looked skeptically at Grub, then shifted his gaze to Meredith. She didn't like the way he looked at her—it reminded her of the way Molly looked at her food bowl while her dinner was being prepared.

Finally, he turned his attention back to Grub. "What will you pay me?" his tone was strangely flat, almost inhuman.

"Pay you?" the troll faltered, caught off guard. "Well, I...,I suppose we could offer ya somethin'...." He looked to Meredith for help.

She nodded toward the plastic bag at her feet. "I'm sure we have something that would do, but can't we talk about it inside?" She grimaced and looked skyward, shivering. Even so, she was having serious second thoughts about the wisdom of what they were doing.

The blacksmith considered her words briefly, then replied, "Very well, but the dog stays outside. Wait here." He went back inside the smithy to the anvil he had been working at. He picked up a pair of tongs which held a piece of dully glowing metal. He plunged these into a nearby barrel of water, sending up a gout of steam. Next he closed the door of the forge with his tongs and hung them up on an iron hook protruding from a wooden support pillar. Then he snatched off the leather apron and hung it up, too. He came back to the door and stepped outside, closing it behind him.

"Let's go."

He seemed oblivious to the rain on his bare skin. It mixed with the soot to form dark rivulets down his shoulders and back. Without giving them another look, he strode down the wet path to the cottage. For lack of a better plan, they followed along compliantly.

Fortunately, the cottage had a covered porch: the blacksmith threw a stained cloth down in the corner. "The dog stays here," he said.

Meredith started to protest, but Grub gave her a warning look. Reluctantly, she told Molly to lie down on the cloth.

Once the dog was settled, they all made their way inside. Meredith felt blessed warmth wash over her as she stepped across the threshold. The floors were made of rough wood: there were no carpets or rugs. What little furniture there was, was plain and utilitarian. The air smelled of perspiration and cooking, with an underlying odor that might be dust. Both Meredith and Grub were immediately drawn to the blazing hearth where they stood huddled to soak up the heat. She dropped the garbage bag on the floor and leaned Smiter against the mantelpiece.

Grub looked over at the blacksmith who was wiping himself down with a filthy rag. "Is yer wife not home?" he asked cheerily.

The man gave him a hard look. "I live alone," he stated, coldly. "Hang your wet clothes on chairs in front of the fire. I will get you some food. Then we will discuss your payment." Without waiting for a response, he made his way over to the side of the room that served as a scullery.

Meredith elbowed Grub in the ribs and bent down to hiss in his ear. "There's no way I'm taking off my clothes in front of either of you!"

The troll thought for a moment, then said, "Why don't ya use yer blanket? Stay in those wet things an' ya'll catch yer death. With that he shrugged out of his vest and draped it over the back of a chair. Then he began to undo his trousers.

Meredith yelped and whipped open the bag, reached into the knapsack and pulled out the space blanket. "Use this, at least!" she insisted.

Rolling his eyes, Grub accepted the silvery sheet and finished undressing behind it. Then he wrapped it around himself like a towel, tucking it under his armpits. Meredith looked at him and started laughing hysterically. "What's so funny?" he asked indignantly.

She wiped weakly at her eyes. "You..you look like you're ready for the barbeque!" she blurted, and fell into more gales of laughter.

The troll sniffed and turned away. Meredith finally regained control and removed the wool blanket from the pack. Once she was safely hidden beneath this, she stripped off her t-shirt, pants, bra and panties. She fashioned a toga of sorts from the blanket and hung up her clothes as Grub had. Then she went to the window and peered out to check on Molly. The border collie was curled up for warmth, but apparently sleeping. At least she was out of the wind and the rain, thought Meredith.

Grub was watching the blacksmith's food preparation with great interest and anticipation. The big man was standing before the hearth, stirring a black cauldron which gave off a mouth-watering aroma of stew. The big round table in the centre of the room had been set with pewter dishware and a half-eaten loaf of bread. Even Meredith felt her misgivings dissipating in light of the imminent arrival of food. She picked up her pack just as the blacksmith turned and said, "Everything is ready. Now, what are you prepared to pay?"

He reached out and fingered the edge of Grub's space blanket. "Interesting. I've never seen material like this before."

Meredith was rummaging through the pack, panic setting in as she began to realize that there was almost nothing in there that they could afford to part with. Her hand came to rest on a rectangular plastic object with wires: her Walkman. Worth a try, she thought.

She pulled out the Walkman and held it up to the blacksmith. "How about this?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed and he looked puzzled. "What is it?"

"It's, uh, a music machine. Here, put these in your ears." She passed him the earplugs.

The blacksmith looked skeptical as he inserted the tiny speakers into his ears. "I hear nothing," he stated.

With a silent prayer, Meredith switched on the Walkman. The blacksmith gave a yell, his entire body convulsing as though he had received an electric shock. He hurled the plugs back at her. "That is not music!" he cried. "The wailing souls of the damned are trapped inside...are you a sorceress?" For the first time, Meredith saw a glimmer of fear the big man's eyes.

The blacksmith moved off to one side, leaning sullenly against the fireplace mantel. His eyes came to rest on Smiter, lying there. "That's a fine staff," he said, speculatively, reaching out for it.

Grub leapt forward and snatched the staff away before he could touch it. "Uh,...sorry! That's an old family heirloom...we couldn't possibly part with it. I'm sure there's something else that would interest you," he turned to Meredith, his eyes desperate. "How about that pendant of yours, Meredith?"

She began to shake her head, but the troll insisted. With a scowl, she drew forth the dragon pendant that had belonged to her brother for such a short time. The sight of it brought her a pang of sorrow and despair.

The blacksmith raised his bushy eyebrows. "A very pretty piece indeed." Grub took the pendant from Meredith and handed it to the blacksmith. He inspected it thoroughly, finally saying, "Yes, this will do."

"Uh, yeah, but it's worth more 'n a meal an' a night's stay." Grub took on the manner of a marketplace merchant.

The blacksmith grinned suddenly, revealing stained teeth. There was nothing reassuring about that change of expression. "So, you wish to barter, little man? Very well: you will choose something from my stock...some chain mail, a sword...or perhaps a bow and arrows?"

Grub became excited. "Oh, a sword'd be nice!" he clapped his hands together like a small child.

"No!" Meredith's voice froze them both. They looked at her as though she'd gone mad. "We, uh, we'd rather have the bow and some arrows...if you don't mind." She cast the troll a meaningful glance.

The calculating expression had returned to the blacksmith's face. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Though neither of you have the strength to draw it. But if that's what you want...."

"It is," said Meredith with certainty. She saw understanding dawn in Grub's eyes and knew that he had finally remembered the words of the numerologist.

"So be it," said the blacksmith, pocketing the pendant. "I will give you your weapon later: first, eat."

He removed the cauldron from the hook that suspended it over the fire and brought it, steaming, to the table. He ladled the thick stew into two bowls and set them before his guests. Before she sat down, Meredith said, "Is there anything at all I can give to the dog?"

The blacksmith scowled. "I've better uses for food than givin' it to an animal."

"Maybe so," interjected Grub, "but ya said ya 'd give us food and shelter. The dog's an equal member of our party...it's bad enough yer forcin' 'er to stay outside an' all. Do we 'ave to renegotiate our deal?"

"Ahhh, a pox on you and your mutt!" The blacksmith returned the cauldron to its hook and went into the scullery. He returned with a meaty bone. "I was going to save this for soup, now it will go to waste on a lousy dog...."

Meredith accepted the bone gratefully and took it out to Molly who perked up considerably, her tail wagging, at the sight of food. Meredith stroked the dog's head briefly, then went back inside to her own meal. It was surprisingly good: the bread could have been fresher, and the stew needed more seasoning, but to the hungry travelers, it seemed like the best meal they had ever eaten.

As Meredith ate she noticed the blacksmith watching her intently, that same hungry look in his eyes.

It was a very quiet meal: their host was relentlessly taciturn, no matter how much Grub tried to joke and probe for information. Grunts and facial expressions seemed to be the man's primary means of communication.

When they were finally satiated, the blacksmith showed them the sleeping arrangements: Grub was given a tick mattress to place on the floor in front of the fire, which he was instructed to tend through the night. Meredith was guided to a tiny room off of the main area that contained a proper bed and a dresser, but not much else. The blacksmith's bedroom, which was much larger, also led off of the front room.

"The outhouse is around the back. Yer welcome to it." The blacksmith announced.

A terrible weariness weighed down upon Meredith, so she was relieved when the blacksmith bade them goodnight and slouched off to bed. She collected her now-dry clothing, her staff, and the pack and took them to her little room. She leaned the staff against the wall beside the headboard and draped her blanket across the bed.

One of the things she missed most from her own world was her toothbrush. She washed up as best she could with warm water and a towel, put on her underwear and t-shirt, then crawled beneath the chilly covers. It wasn't long before her shivering stopped and she drifted off to a dream-haunted sleep.

Meredith awoke in a panic from a suffocation dream—only to find that it wasn't a dream: a rough hand was clamped over her mouth, blocking her nostrils at the same time. Instinctively, she jerked her head violently to one side, partially freeing her mouth, and screamed. Out on the porch Molly immediately began to bark frantically and throw herself at the door. The blacksmith's grotesquely grinning face loomed out of the darkness and breathed fetid air at her. "Oh my, yes...you are a tender morsel. You'll make a fine meal with some taters and a bit o' seasoning."

He leaned closer, licking his fleshy, wet lips. Meredith gave another scream and thrashed about to escape his clutching hands. He chuckled cruelly and cocked his head to listen to Molly's frenzied protests at the front door. He chuckled again and turned his attention back to Meredith.

"Grub! Help me! Hurry!" she cried.

The blacksmith gave an evil laugh. "Oh, I don't think there's much chance o' that happenin': he's a bit tied-up just now, you see." He burst into gales of mirth at his own wit. Without warning the smile vanished and that intense, hungry look came over his face again: his eyes turned hard and flinty in the dim light. "Now let me slip this around you so you won't be runnin' off in the night." He raised a loop of coarse rope towards her.

Meredith screamed again.

There was a sudden, loud growling sound and an explosion of shattering glass as Molly crashed through the window into the room. The blacksmith straightened in surprise. "What the...?" he began, but then the border collie launched herself at him, clamping her strong jaws onto his right calf. Behind him, Meredith snapped out of her momentary, shocked paralysis, threw herself out of the bed and grabbed for the only weapon at hand: Smiter.

The blacksmith lurched to his feet with a bellow of pain. Then, with a low growl of his own, he reached down and seized the dog by the scruff of the neck and hauled her off of him by sheer brute force. Roaring, he hauled back and threw her across the room where she slammed into the wall with a sickening snapping sound and a yelp of pain. She fell to the floor in a limp heap. The blacksmith smiled with grim satisfaction.

"No!" Meredith's outraged cry tore her throat as she swung the staff at her attacker. All of her terror and despair seemed to surge out of her and into the staff as she struck. The staff struck the blacksmith squarely in the chest. There was an electric-blue flash of light that lit-up his startled face, and a miniature clap of thunder that shook the cottage to its foundations. Meredith dropped the staff and clasped her hands to her ears.

The blacksmith was hurled backwards like a rag-doll. He landed on his back on the floor, where he lay spread-eagled and twitching. A small curl of smoke drifted up from the blackened patch on his bare chest. His wide, dead eyes stared unseeing at the shadowy ceiling above.

Meredith stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then ran to Molly's side. The dog's breathing was rapid and shallow. The air seemed to rattle and whistle in her lungs. She whined plaintively at Meredith's approach, but was unable to lift her head. Her eyes rolled in fear and pain. Her lolling tongue was covered in blood.

Afraid and helpless, Meredith could only stroke Molly's head, saying, "It's okay, Molly. Good girl. Just lay still...that 'a girl." Huge tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over to fall on the dog's matted fur. Molly's whole body shuddered once, her eyes closed, and her breathing stopped altogether.

Moments later, the bedroom banged open and Grub fell into the room. He was bound by the hands and feet, and a gag dangled beneath his chin. He rolled onto his side in the middle of the room. "Are ya all right?" he gasped, continuing to struggle against his bonds.

Meredith was crouched beside Molly, head bowed, with her back to Grub. When she didn't answer him, he paused to take a better look. "Oh no," he said softly as he realized what had happened. In a few seconds more he had freed himself. He knelt briefly by the blacksmith to ensure that he was dead, then hurried to Meredith's side. He put an arm around her shoulder to comfort her.

"She's dead," said Meredith, flatly, her tears continuing to flow.

"There, there. Come an' sit down," offered Grub.

Meredith allowed herself to be led back to the bed where she sat lifelessly down.

The little troll looked up into her face with concern. "Are ya all right?" he repeated. "He didn't harm ya, did 'e?"

She shook her head slowly.

Grub looked relieved. He glanced back at the blackened corpse behind him and said, "What did ya do to 'im?"

"I hit him...with the staff."

Shock registered on Grub's face. "You used Smiter? But ya don't know how!"

Meredith shrugged. "Guess I'm just a natural."

Grub shook his head disapprovingly. "This ain't good. Don'cha remember: Dante said not ta waste any power...yer going to need it ta get back home!"

Meredith turned on him angrily, "What was I supposed to do? He killed Molly! He was probably going to kill me! Would you have preferred I let him?"

Taken aback by her fury, the troll sputtered denials.

Ignoring him, Meredith suddenly brightened. "Wait a minute! Smiter has power, and I can use that power...if it can kill, then maybe it can revive, too! It can, can't it?" She grabbed the troll by the lapels of his vest and shook him violently.

Flustered, he sputtered, "Well, yeah...it can...but ya can't do that! Not fer a dog! Haven't ya been listenin' ta me? You've got t' conserve power! You wanna' get back don'cha?"

Ignoring his protests, she let him go, went over to the staff and picked it up. It's familiar vibration thrummed through her hands and up her arms. She walked over to Molly's body.

"Fine! Go ahead an' try! Yer no wizard. It'll never work!"

With a backward glance, Meredith said, "I owe her. I have to try. Either we all get out of here, or none of us do!"

She turned back to Molly and began to compose her thoughts and emotions. She closed her eyes and concentrated on feelings of wellness and joy. It wasn't easy under the circumstances, but she cast her mind back to memories of happier times—when her parents were still together—before she had been betrayed. Slowly her despair lifted. A small smile gradually formed on her face. She felt a glowing warmth expanding from the core of her being, outwards down her arms and into the staff. She brought Smiter's head down and gently touched it to Molly's ribs.

This time there was no flash, and for a instant Meredith thought she had failed. But as she opened her eyes she saw a blue glow spreading out from the tip of the staff across the dog's still body, little arcs of blue energy leaping out as it did. She watched in wonder as the glow seemed to sink into Molly's fur just as water is absorbed into parched earth.

Suddenly, Molly's ear twitched. Then her nose. Then all four paws. She took a long, jittery breath, and then her eyes popped open. She leapt to her feet—unsteady—but none the worse for wear. Her tail wagged gamely as she recognized Meredith standing before her.

"Well I'll be...," Grub murmured, looking at Meredith with a new mixture of awe and respect.

Meredith dropped to her knees and gave the dog a joyous hug. "Welcome back, Molly!" she said with heartfelt relief.

Molly gave her a big, sloppy lick on the cheek in return.

"I'm sorry," said Corporal Sidhu as he stood before them in the living-room, "we just don't have enough evidence yet to get a conviction. I'm not even sure what we would charge him with."

Marilyn's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob and she clenched her eyes shut against the hot, burning tears. Carol clasped Kyle's hand tighter where they sat together on the couch.

"Still no clues to where they are?" Kyle forced himself to voice the question he knew the others were thinking.

Sidhu's face fell and he looked down at the cap in his hand. "No. Not yet. Our tracking dogs have found no trace of them." He looked up again. "But then, we have not found any signs that they have been hurt, either."

"Well, what have you found, exactly?" asked Marilyn, testily.

The corporal turned to face her. "We have the net, which Mr. McLaughlin here has confirmed is his. We have footprints—matching those we found here at the house—that lead back and forth between here and Mr. Danton's residence. Now this is where things get strange: one set of Brian's footprints lead to the pond, to Danton's house, back here, then to the pond again. They stop there. We have dragged the pond, so we know he didn not drown. Someone must have physically carried him away from there.

"As you might expect, the dog's prints follow the boy's, but lead back to Danton's place for a second time and never come out. Meredith's prints lead straight to Danton's, and likewise do not reappear. So, it would seem that the old man's story about seeing the boy the day before yesterday, and Meredith yesterday morning, check out. He must have seen the dog on both occasions. However, several questions remain: why did whatever happened to Brian not happen to Meredith? Why did she go to the old man's house after Brian disappeared? And if she and the dog went into the house, why didn't they come out again? It is most perplexing."

Kyle shook his head. "There has to be some explanation: people don't just vanish into thin air...."

Sidhu held up his hand. "Wait. There is more. An unidentified set of tracks leads from the pond to Danton's house and does not reappear. The footprints were made by bare feet—small, but broad—almost like those of an orangutan."

"What?" Marilyn gasped.

Sidhu nodded soberly: it was obvious that he was deadly serious. "The results of our DNA testing on the glass and teacups from Danton's house have shown a positive match to the samples of the children's skin and hair that we obtained from the brushes and clothing you provided, but there was something else...," he paused, seeming unsure whether to continue.

"Yes?" Kyle pressed.

The corporal's face contorted and his tone became almost apologetic. "Well, we also found traces of DNA that did not match: in fact, they do not match any known species on the planet."

Kyle's face flushed with anger. "Are you trying to tell me that my niece and nephew were kidnapped by aliens?"

Sidhu shook his head emphatically. "No, no, certainly not! I'm sure that there is a perfectly simple explantion: an error by the lab, contamination of the sample, many things are possible."

Kyle was not much mollified. "Well, it seems to me that only one person has the answers, and that's Danton himself! When are you going to arrest the old bastard?"

"Unfortunately, until we find the children, one way or the other, there's nothing we can charge him with. Our only hope is that he will finally tell us where they really are. I'm going to take him in for questioning: maybe that will convince him that we are serious. My officers will be meeting me there in a few minutes. Would you care to come along?"

"You bet I would!"

Marilyn jumped to her feet. "What about us?" she indicated Carol.

The corporal pursed his lips doubtfully. "Unfortunately, I must decline: I am bending the rules as it is by allowing Mr. McLaughlin to be present. However, I am hoping that having a family member present might spark some degree of remorse in the man, and perhaps prompt him to reveal the children's whereabouts. As the mother, you are welcome to attend in his stead."

Kyle put his hand on her shoulder. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

Marilyn nodded. "Yes. I have to. I can't stand all this waiting. Maybe the Corporal is right...who would have a better chance than the child's mother?"

"Very well," said Sidhu. "We must leave at once."

A few minutes later Sidhu's vehicle arrived at Dante's house where a white RCMP car was already waiting. The other officers, a man and a woman, got out of their car when they saw him pull up. They spoke together briefly, nodding and looking over their shoulders at the cottage, then once again Sidhu instructed his passenger to stay in the vehicle.

There was no sign of Roc the crow this time. As the officers reached the stairs, the screen door opened and Dante came out. He was wearing a grey cardigan sweater with something bulging in the pocket, and a clean shirt buttoned at the collar. The overalls had been exchanged for charcoal-grey slacks. He gave them all one cursory look and said, "Well, I was beginning to think you were never going to get here! Small wonder the real criminals are always getting away."

Corporal Sidhu stepped forward. "Sir, on the basis of physical evidence found in and around your home, I now require you to accompany me to the station for questioning...."

Dante dismissed this speech with an impatient wave. "Yes, yes, yes: fine. I have nothing to hide. Can we just get on with it, please?"

The two officers took their places on either side of the old man and guided him down the stairs. He allowed the woman to hold his left elbow, but threw off the male officer's hand. Just as they were about to put him into their police car, he spoke up, "I must speak with the mother. Give me just one minute...it's very important that I speak with her."

The officers gave Sidhu questioning looks: he shrugged and nodded. The corporal followed closely as Dante made his way to the Explorer where Marilyn sat with the window down. Her face was an unscrutable mask, but her eyes smouldered. Dante stopped and met her stare unflinchingly. "Marilyn," he began, ignoring her look of surprise at his knowing her name, "I know you think I have done something terrible to your children, and perhaps I have...to one of them at least, but you must believe me when I tell you that I have tried to act in their best interests and done everything I could to help them both. You must be patient now, and have faith in their abilities—which are considerable. I truly believe that they will be returned to you in the fullness of time, changed perhaps, but unharmed." He started to reach into his pocket, but Sidhu caught hold of his arm.

"Pardon me, sir. Let me have a look at that first, if you don't mind," he said.

Dante showed him the object and Sidhu nodded. "Very well. Proceed."

Dante handed Marilyn a music box. "Please. I would like you to give this to Meredith when she returns. She will have earned it...and much more."

Marilyn's hands were shaking as she accepted the box from the old man. She had been all set to attack tear a strip out of him, but there was something in his manner and his calm grey eyes that robbed her of her anger. Somehow she felt she could believe him...could trust him. He had at least offered her hope...it was all so confusing.

Without another word, Dante turned and was escorted back to the police car. Marilyn watched him go, a single tear trickling down her cheek as the music box played its cheery melody.

"Is,sn't it l,l,lit y,y,yet?" Brian stuttered impatiently, his teeth chattering with cold.

"No!" snapped Krul in response, pausing in his fruitless attempt to make a fire. "Maybe Bry-an should try if he think it so easy!" He went back to striking his dagger blade against a piece of flint. The resulting sparks flew into a small pile of almost-dry moss with no results. The goblin cursed under his breath and tried again. His injured ankle was now bound tightly with the right sleeve from Brian's sweatshirt, which was the only suitable material available.

Brian sat huddled at the base of an oak tree, hugging his knees to his chest. His clothing was still soaking wet: the rain that had started the night before still hadn't let up. He was cold, hungry, and miserable.

Krul began to blow desperately on a spark that had actually caught in the moss. Slowly, small flames bloomed amid clouds of smoke. He quickly added small twigs to the fledgling fire, moving to larger and larger pieces as the fire grew stronger. Before long they were both sitting as close as possible to the new fire while holding out their hands to the warmth. Wet clothing began to steam in the cold night air.

"About time," Brian muttered.

Krul cast him a withering glance, but said no more.

They sat for a while in silence, just trying to get warm. Finally, Brian said, "So what do we do now? We've got no food...no gear...minimal clothing."

Krul snorted. "Krul not go back to campsite for supplies: too many dead bodies." He grimaced, which only served to make his already unlovely face unlovelier.

Brian gave him a sympathetic look. "Do you think they're all dead?"

The goblin looked at him as if he were crazy. "Of course they dead! No one escapes from Huntsman and dogs...'cept us. We very lucky."

"Smart, more like it: it was your idea that saved us."

Krul shrugged and added a few more sticks to the fire.

Brian thought for a moment, then asked, "Who is this 'Huntsman', anyway? Why does he kill everybody."

"Not everybody: just goblins."

"Okay, why just goblins?"

Krul sighed. "Because some goblins kill his mate and man-childs. Ever since, all he do is hunt goblins. From Borderlands to Frozen Wastes. All day and all night."

"Aw, come on! He has to sleep sometime."

The goblin shook his head earnestly. "No, they say he never sleep. That way he kill more goblins. They say he eats them up...just like dogs!"

Brian wrinkled his nose. "Sounds like stories to me." He lapsed into thoughtful silence, then asked, "So, why are goblins bad? Who is this Master you talk about, and why do you serve him?"

Krul grinned toothily. "Bry-an ask too many questions. Goblins not good or bad: just do what Master says. Master is master because he makes goblins. Goblins made to serve Master."

"He created you? But, don't you have parents? No mother, no father?"

"No, no mother...no father. Krul spawned in big vat. They say Master brought first goblins here through Portal...maybe first ones had parents." He looked more closely at Brian. "Does Bry-an have parents?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah, but they don't live together any more."

"And that makes Bry-an sad?"

"Well, yeah...I guess." Brian seemed uncomfortable. Changing the subject, he declared, "I'm starved, we gotta find something to eat."

"You hungry? Krul know where to find food...wait here."

The goblin limped off into the trees, leaving Brian alone with the fire. He glanced around at the mist and the bare, dripping branches, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. He poked at the fire with a stick to see if he could get it to burn a little brighter. He thought he heard a rustling in the bushes to the right: his head snapped up and his eyes bored into the gloom, but there was no movement save that caused by the constant wind. The boy slumped back into his misery.

Brian's stomach grumbled and churned as his thoughts drifted to his family: what would they be doing right now? His mother would be totally upset, of course. At least Meredith had been there when he was captured: she would have told them all what had happened. But what could they do about it? Only weird old Dante would know how to get to this world, and nobody would believe him. For the first time since his ordeal began, Brian realized that he would probably never see his sister or his parents again. In fact, the way things were going, he would be lucky to survive at all. Hot tears of hopelessness began to join the rainwater trickling down his cheeks.

He felt a tickling sensation on the hairs of his exposed right arm and looked down expecting to see a drop of water running along there. Instead, what he saw was a huge, reddish-brown spider with a glistening body and multiple beady eyes creeping up his arm, looking for a dry place to nest. Brian grimaced in revulsion and flicked the spider away with his hand. He suddenly felt itchy and tickly all over, as though there were spiders crawling everywhere under his clothes and in his hair.

Krul gave him an odd look when he came limping back moments later to find Brian squirming and scratching away at himself. Deciding not to ask, he stood above Brian and proudly held out a handful of freshly-picked toadstools. The boy looked up at the slimy, ochre coloured caps, the delicately fleshy gills, and the flecks of dirt sticking to the stems and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. "That's your idea of food?" he asked, disgustedly.

Undeterred, Krul replied, "Oh yes! These very good. Krul find nice juicy grubs too, but didn't think Bry-an would...unnhh," He grunted in pain, and his gaze fell to the wickedly sharpened stick that had suddenly burst forth from his chest. The thin yellow ichor that was his blood covered it's length. His wide, startled eyes met Brian's equally shocked gaze, and he slowly sank to his knees without uttering another sound. Then he pitched face forward into the mud.

As he did, Brian could see, for the first time, a horrific apparition standing behind him: it was Grol, or what was left of him. His savaged body was a ruin of gaping wounds and hanging strips of skin. One eyeball and the flesh of his left cheek had all been torn away. The remaining eye burned insanely in its socket and the mouth was locked in a triumphant grin. With a violent tug, he freed the primitive spear from Krul's body and levelled it at Brian, who remained where he was, absolutely frozen with fear and horror.

At last the goblin leader spoke, his voice cracking in pain and madness, "So, Dante use his magic to turn Grol's men against him. Thinks he has escaped from Grol...well, Grol not stopped so easy!" He took a lurching step closer, dragging one useless leg behind him as he closed the distance between them and drew within striking range.

Brian felt his hands and feet pushing futilely at the mud as he tried to crabwalk backwards away from this hideous creature. All the strength seemed to have gone out of his limbs.

The goblin threw back his head, cackling at Brian's discomfiture. "The Master say: 'bring me Dante, but if no can bring, then kill Dante. Grol no can bring...," he looked down at his ruined self with another cackle, "so Grol will kill!"

With that he drew back his arm to cast the spear.

When the realization of what she had done finally came home to Meredith, she had collapsed shaking and sobbing on the floor. Nothing Grub said could console her: it was only after he discovered the terrible secret in the cellar that she began to accept that it had been necessary to kill the blacksmith in order to save both of their lives.

The troll had located a hidden trap door and ventured down a set of rickety stairs with an oil lamp in one hand and a short sword in the other, only to find heaps of skulls and bones of various humanoid creatures: earlier victims of the blacksmith's deadly hospitality. The man, if man he was, had obviously been amassing this grisly collection for years. Now, thanks to Meredith, his evil had ended.

After dragging the blacksmith's body into his own cellar and securely fastening the latch on the trap door, they both took turns sleeping fitfully through what remained of the night. When morning arrived with no let-up in the weather, they ate a sparse breakfast—Meredith, in particular, lacked much of an appetite—before searching the cottage and the smithy for anything of value. The result was encouraging: they now had a good supply of food, including bread, dried meat and some vegetables; some clothing and boots, extra blankets, and some animal furs and skins. Grub had located a large leather sack to carry it all in. The sack had even been waterproofed with oil.

Molly, none the worse for her experiences of the night before, was scratching impatiently at the front door, clearly anxious to get out of that evil place and on with the journey. Meredith and Grub felt much the same way, but they lingered a while longer so that Grub could fashion two broad-brimmed hats from a sheet of stiff leather, and a poncho from the space-blanket. The hats looked ridiculous, of course—especially Grub's, which had to be made to fit loosely to accommodate his tall, pointed ears—but they would ward off the worst of the rain from their heads. The poncho would serve the dual purpose of keeping Meredith dry and warm: important considerations since Grub was predicting snow if they ventured much further towards the Frozen Wastes.

At last all was in readiness, at least as much as could be hoped for, so they set off into the steady downpour. Grub carried the unstrung bow in one hand—the gut string was safely stowed away from moisture to prevent shrinkage, the bow itself had a light coating of linseed oil so that it would not warp—and the bulging sack in the other. A quiver of about a dozen arrows was slung over his shoulder and the short sword was strapped to his waist.

Meredith felt a great weight lift from her the moment she stepped out into the fresh air and daylight. Although the wind had quieted down, the rain pattered away on the brim of the hat creating a constant background noise that made it difficult to hear. She had to raise her voice almost to a shout whenever she spoke to Grub. As a result, they trudged along mostly in silence, which suited both of them just fine.

The landscape began to change once more, becoming harsher, with less vegetation. The trees were thinly-spaced and spindly, their leafless branches stark against the dull sky. The air was filled with the musty, late-autumn smell of dampness and decay. All around the ground was covered in a carpet of rotting leaves through which armies of toadstools were thrusting their heads. Small animals and birds occasionally scurried away at their passing, but generally there was very little sign of life around them.

Despite having spent a night indoors and their full bellies, the two travellers were in somber moods. Grub was dwelling on old memories of the days when he and Darkmoor first passed this way while fleeing from Justyn's minions. Meredith was beginning to give up hope of ever seeing her brother again, let alone home. She had used two charges of the staff the night before, against Grub's advice and that of Dante himself. She had come so far and yet there seemed to be so much farther still to go before this nightmare would end. If only stupid Brian had just stayed away from that pond and the old man in the first place!

She stifled that uncharitable thought as quickly as it came. There was no way Brian could even have dreamed what was about to happen to him, and she had gone along as a willing participant. What had happened was just as much her fault as Brian's: maybe more, since she was the eldest. At least she had Molly and Grub, annoying as he could be, for company: poor Brian was out there somewhere at the mercy of hideous monsters, being dragged along to some uncertain fate...and he was just a little kid! With thoughts like these, Meredith sank into a gloomy mood of guilt and despair.

The day dragged by uneventfully: Grub consulted the compass regularly and it always pointed relentlessly east. At one point near mid-day, when they had stopped for a rest break, Grub set the compass down on a rock while he rifled through his sack of supplies to find a bread-roll to eat. He found his prize and began to eat, pausing now and then to wash it down with a swig of water from the canteen. Chewing happily, he turned his attention back to the compass. As he watched, the needle shifted, slowly and almost imperceptibly, ever so slightly to the north. The difference was scarcely even a single degree, but it was there, nonetheless. The troll didn't know what to make of it so he called Meredith over and told her what had happened. They both stared intently at the compass for the next few minutes but the needle just lay there, unwavering.

Meredith sat back on her heels, her chin cupped in one hand, a thoughtful look on her face. Rain dripped steadily from the brim of her hat. A sudden realization transformed her expression in an instant to bright enthusiasm. "I've got it!" she cried. "If this thing is really pointing to Brian, like we think, and it moved north suddenly, then he must have moved north suddenly!"

Grub stared back at her uncomprehendingly. "So what?" he asked, "He's been movin' ever since this chase began."

"But don't you see?" Meredith gushed, "If he was way ahead of us and moved north for the few seconds that the needle moved, he couldn't cover enough distance to make a difference that would register on the compass. But if he was fairly close by, then even a small distance would result in a noticeable shift in the needle as it followed him! Grub, we must be very close!"

Understanding finally dawned on the troll's weathered face. "Damned if your not right!" he shouted, jumping to his feet. "Well what're ya waitin' for? Let's get after 'im!"

They set off again, doubling their pace. Renewed hope swept aside Meredith's tiredness from the morning's march. Molly sensed the excitement in her companions, becoming more lively herself. She would run ahead sniffing at the ground, then dash back to stare at them intently, waiting for some signal of what she should do.

Despite her initial optimism, Meredith soon had to accept that their search was not yet over. She had thought that they would find him waiting over the next rise, but he wasn't behind that one, or the next one...or the next. The afternoon wore steadily on to evening and the already dim light began to fade. Meredith's spirits faded with it. Her shoulders sagging, she hung her head, saying, "Stupid compass! It's not pointing at Brian, it's just broken! Why would Dante give us a broken compass? It's not fair!" At that, she broke down and began to cry.

Molly immediately ran to her side and began to lick her hand in concern. In an uncharacteristic display of emotion, Grub came over and put an arm around her, squeezing her with a tenderness that was completely unexpected. "I don't know nuthin' about no compasses...never heard o' such a thing until this one...but I do know Dante, an' if 'e gave it to us, 'e had 'is reasons. Ya just gotta...," He stopped talking abruptly. Molly had begun to growl and was standing stiffly, staring into the dark bush and woods ahead.

Sniffing and wiping her eyes, Meredith started to speak to the dog, but Grub hushed her to silence. He gestured for her to hold Molly's collar and follow him. Slowly they crept forward, straining to hear whatever sound had caught the border collie's attention. When they paused to listen all they could hear was the constant hissing of the rain on their hats. Grub yanked his off and strained to listen once more. Then he caught it: a faint scraping, rustling sound that came and went. He handed Meredith the bow—which, being taller than the little troll, was too big for him to use—drew his sword and moved cautiously forward. Meredith followed, struggling to keep Molly quiet and restrained.

After advancing silently for several metres, Grub parted some bushes and peered through them into a clearing. There he saw a young goblin with some sort of bandage on its foot, stooping to pick a mushroom. The goblin already had quite a collection of these clutched in one leathery hand. It added the latest one to its horde and began to pick at the rotted bark of a fallen log with its long, chipped nails. In a moment it pulled forth a pale, squirming grub which it immediately popped into its eager mouth. It chewed briefly, slid the results around with its tongue as though savouring the taste, then swallowed loudly with a satisfied sigh.

"Disgusting," Grub muttered to himself. Overcoming his initial instinct to rush out and slay the vile creature with his sword, the troll decided that they'd best follow it awhile on the chance that it might be part of the group that had taken Bryan captive. With a little luck it would lead them straight to him. Of course, he had no idea how he was going to deal with an entire company of goblins: he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

The goblin, still unaware of their presence, straightened and moved off with the awkward, dragging limp that they had heard in the first place. Grub turned back to Meredith and whispered, "It's a goblin...we'll follow it." Without waiting for a response, he proceeded to creep forward in pursuit.

The goblin led them on a winding, slow-motion chase through the bush as it wandered along, stopping occasionally to harvest more mushrooms and grubs. At last it emerged into a fire-lit clearing. Sitting on the ground near the fire was another figure which Grub immediately recognized as the boy, Brian. He was squirming and scratching away at himself as though he had fleas. From behind him, he heard Meredith gasp and he spun around and reached up to clasp one hand over her mouth before she could call out her brother's name. "Ssshhh!" he commanded.

As he turned back to the scene before him, a third figure appeared from behind a tree and moved stealthily in behind the goblin. It took a second or two before Grub realized that this third figure was a goblin too, it was so disfigured. It looked as though it had been in a terrible accident of some kind, or perhaps a battle. The latter seemed more likely, since it was carrying a short, primitive-looking spear, a spear which it now raised, and without the slightest warning, plunged into the back of the first goblin.

Grub heard the younger goblin, who had been conversing with Brian, grunt in pain. Then it slowly dropped to the ground. Grub caught a brief glimpse of the boy's shocked face before the second goblin blocked his view as it advanced toward him menacingly. With a sickening feeling he realized that he had made a terrible mistake: he had selected the sword over his sling, and now he was too far away to reach the goblin before it struck. The sling was in his satchel, but there was not enough time to get it out, load it and fire. He watched in despair as the goblin cackled insanely, then drew back its mangled arm to cast the spear.

Brian couldn't take his eyes off of the ichor-stained tip of the spear, knowing that it was about to leap forward to kill him. He was paralyzed into inaction: all he could do was lie there waiting for Grol to strike. Time seemed to slow down to an insane crawl and he became aware of the minutest details around him: the slick feel of the mud under his hands, the cold seeping up through his pants, the watery rattle of Grol's breath as it bellowed in and out, the smell of Krul's blood mixed with the scent of wood smoke, the faint, threatening growl of an animal somewhere nearby....

Grol's arm swung forward to propel the sharp spear-point into Brian's heart. A black and white blur crashed into the goblin from behind, sending him sprawling, screaming, face-first into the fire. The spear cast went wild, but narrowly missed Brian's head: he both heard and felt its passing just millimetres from his ear.

And then time slipped back into its normal gear. Molly came bounding on top of him, squirming frantically with joy and licking his face and hands. Grol rolled about screaming, his shredded clothing ablaze. Grub and Meredith ran into the clearing, but the goblin was dead before they reached him. The only movement on his still body was that of the last flames as they flickered and went out. Putrid smoke rose in wisps from the corpse.

As Grub stooped to inspect the goblins' bodies, Meredith rushed forward to join Molly in greeting Brian. Brother and sister cried tears of happiness and relief as they embraced unselfconsciously. When they finally pulled apart, still holding hands, Brian said, "I was beginning to think I'd never see you or Mom again." Then he leaned over to peer past Meredith at Grub. "Who is that? What are you doing with him? How did you follow me?" The questions came tumbling out. Before she could respond, he remembered his friend. His eyes dropped to Krul's still form. "He's dead, isn't he?" he asked morosely.

Grub looked up from where he crouched beside the younger goblin's body, puzzled. "Yes, but why would ya care?"

"Grub! Don't be so insensitive!" Meredith scolded.

"But it's only a goblin...," he protested.

"Oh, right! That's the same argument you tried to use against Molly. And if I had listened to you, Brian would be dead right now, too!"

Brian looked confused. "What do you mean? What happened to Molly?"

The troll spoke up before Meredith could. "I don't think ya want'a be talkin' about that, lass...under the circumstances...if ya take my meanin'."

Meredith's expression clouded, troubled. Then she began to see what Grub was driving at. He was afraid that she would let Brian persuade her to use yet another of Smiter's valuable charges to revive his friend. And truly, if Brian cared so much about him, how could she deny him, even if Krul was a goblin.

"Meredith, what's he talking about? Is there some way you can help Krul?" Brian prodded.

"Well, you see...," she began.

"Don't even think it!" Grub said sternly. "Ya've already jeopardized yer chances!"

"You can, can't you?" demanded Brian. "It's the staff, isn't it? I bet it has magical powers! Dante gave it to you didn't he?"

"Now Brian, just...,"

"Save him Meredith...you have too! He took care of me...helped me escape! If it wasn't for him, I'd be dead too!" Brian pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes again.

"Brian, I can't." The statement was firm, certain. Something had suddenly changed inside Meredith. It was as though a light had gone on in a darkened room. Where she had always felt frustrated and unsure, she now felt cool, calm and confident. Somehow she knew that she must not give in to the temptation to use another charge. If it wasn't already too late, it most certainly would be if she did.

Grub heaved a relieved sigh, looking at Meredith with renewed respect.

"But why?" persisted Brian, sobbing. "It's not fair...he shouldn't have to die...he's just a kid like me!"

Meredith pulled her brother to her, cradling his rain-soaked head on her chest. "No, it isn't fair, Brian. None of this is. It wasn't fair that Mom and Dad split up, either. But sometimes you just have to learn to accept things that you can't change and move on."

"But you can change this!"

"I can...and I can't. I can't if I'm going to get us home again. And that is more important than anything else...even the life of your friend."

It was clear to Brian that his sister's mind was made up: there was no use in arguing further. As hope died, his sense of loss and grief became overwhelming, and he pulled violently away from her, ran to the edge of the clearing where he stood with his back to them, sobbing uncontrollably. Molly slunk after him and sat looking up at him, her ears down. Meredith and Grub left him alone, busying themselves instead with the grisly task of burying the bodies. In the absence of a shovel, Grub was forced to dig with his sword blade and scoop away the earth with his bare hands. After what seemed like hours, the two goblins were properly interred in two shallow graves.

When Meredith returned, exhausted, to the campfire she found Brian sitting there staring into the flames and poking at the glowing embers with a long stick. He looked drawn and pale: she was very concerned about his health, both mental and physical, but didn't know what she could do about either. She took a stab at the physical by serving Brian some bread, cheese and jerky from their supplies. Then she gave him some water. Eventually, they began to talk in low tones, and gradually they each related what had happened to them since they were separated at the pond, three days before. Grub sat quietly nearby adding fuel to the fire as necessary, but not speaking. He could see that this was a time for a brother and sister to share and begin to heal wounds, both new ones and old.

At some point as they talked the rain finally stopped and the clouds broke open to reveal a cold, bright moon in the sky above. Brian's concentration began to falter as his eyelids grew heavier and his head started to nod. Meredith lay the space blanket down as a ground-sheet, and then she and Brian huddled together on it with Molly and a couple of wool blankets for warmth. Within minutes all three were sound asleep.

Grub continued to sit up tending the fire. All around, damp clothing steamed dry on sticks that they had driven into the ground. He watched the children's peaceful faces as they slept. Looking at Meredith's quiet beauty he realized that a subtle change had been wrought there, indicative of more fundamental ones deeper down: she was no longer a child, but a young woman on a voyage of self-discovery. Even Brian looked more grown-up somehow, as though his trials had hardened and tempered him like steel in a forge. The troll nodded approvingly to himself at this.

"That's good," he said softly, to no one in particular, "'cause now the easy part's over."

Chapter Six

Dawn arrived with a warm breeze that helped greatly with the drying out process. The fire had been allowed to die down, but it had done its work: most of their gear was dry, if a bit stiff, now. After eating a hearty breakfast under Grub's disapproving glare, Brian gathered up a collection of mushrooms and placed them on Krul's grave, since there were no flowers to be found anywhere. He also built a small cairn of stones to serve as a marker. This done, he seemed much more at peace with himself and was ready to move on.

The topic of what to move on to had occupied most of the morning's conversation. Grub had insisted that they should continue eastward, since, whether they located Darkmoor or not, they would have to confront Justyn and destroy the Portal. That was the only way to save Fraeland. "Fer all we know, Darkmoor may be dead or captured: we'd best plan t' finish the job on our own if needs be," the troll declared.

Although she said nothing for Brian's sake, Meredith was deeply disturbed by the very suggestion that they might never find Darkmoor: she knew that they were counting on him to help them get home. Grub still seemed confident, however, and he assured her that they were in the vicinity of where he had seen Darkmoor last, though it was a long time ago.

Since the compass was no longer useful—it simply pointed at Brian, wherever he was standing—they had to take their best guess at east and start walking. A jagged range of mountains presently shrouded in billowy clouds formed the horizon ahead. The landscape shifted once more as they walked along, becoming a maze of rocky ravines and outcroppings. This made navigation even more difficult since their line of sight was so greatly reduced. Grub kept his eye on the sun and the shadows it cast, and tried to keep to as straight a line of travel as possible.

By the end of the long day, Brian was getting tired and cranky. "Why do we have to find this guy, anyway?" he whined, "I wanna go home now!"

Meredith, though tired herself, tried to be patient. "Brian, I told you already: we can't get back without his help."

"Well he sure didn't help Dante much...or Grub either," Brian grumbled, petulantly.

Grub bristled at the implied criticism of his friend. "'e helped me plenty! 'Twas 'is magic what kept us alive all those years in the wild."

The troll stopped suddenly and sniffed the air, scanning the darkening sky. Towering, dark-bellied clouds now loomed there, lit up with the poisonous, reddish-purple light of the setting sun. "Storm's comin'," he stated.

As if on cue, the wind picked up sharply, jostling the floppy brims of their hats. Grub looked at Meredith. "We'd best find shelter."

She nodded in agreement.

The first flash of lightning arced through the gathering gloom soon after, followed by a long, rumbling boom. The wind had increased to a frenzy: it snatched and tore at their flapping clothes. Molly's eyes rolled in fear, her ears were plastered to her skull. She crept along between Meredith and Brian, her tail tucked up so far between her legs it looked as though she had none.

They made their way along a narrow gully with steep rock walls on either side. It made Meredith feel trapped and vulnerable: she kept glancing nervously from side to side. There was another lightning flash, and for an instant she saw a figure frozen on the path directly in front of them: it was a goblin.

Grub had seen it too: he charged forward, drawing his sword. Molly, intimidated as she was by the storm, stayed where she was. Lightning burst forth again to show the path ahead deserted. The troll stopped in his tracks and began to back up. Meredith thought she could hear voices in the distance, but the wind snatched them away.

Grub turned and shouted, "He must'a been a scout for a bigger party. They'll be on top o' us in a second!"

"What are we going to do?" asked Brian, anxiously. He had no desire to be a captive to goblins again.

The troll scowled as he assessed their situation. "They'll catch us fer sure if we try t' run...an' these cliffs are too steep t' climb. We're gonna need a miracle...."

"Wait!" Meredith piped up, "I've got an idea. They're probably just as scared as we are, under the circumstances, and they don't really know what they're up against. We can use that and the darkness to our advantage."

"How do yer mean?" Grub asked skeptically.

"Look at me, with Smiter, this silvery space blanket poncho, and the hat you made me, I must look at least something like a wizard."

The troll looked her up and down critically. "Aye, yer do at that."

"Good. Then do exactly as I say and we may just get out of this mess."

Moments later their hasty preparations were made, and not a moment too soon: a mass of screaming goblins came around the bend ahead and bore down on them brandishing a grisly array of weapons.

Meredith stood in the centre of the path, staff in one hand, and Molly's collar in the other. The dog strained to the attack, the storm forgotten in the face of more immediate threat, her lips pulled back in a fearsome snarl. Brian and Grub crouched in the shadows behind Meredith, awaiting their cue.

The leading goblins caught sight of their quarry, but their expressions of blood-thirsty triumph quickly changed to ones of consternation. They arrested their charge a stone's-throw in front of the lightning-lit apparition before them, trying to gauge the threat.

Meredith went into her act. She raised the staff high with her right hand, its dragon head aglow with blue light. Borrowing the language from a horror movie she had seen, in her deepest, loudest voice, she bellowed, "In the name of the mighty Dante, I will blast thee back to the pit from whence thee came!"

That was the cue for Grub and Brian. Moments earlier, the boy had used the lighter to ignite the first two sparklers from Meredith's pack. Now he threw one of these over her shoulder in a long, sizzling arc towards the goblins. It hissed through the leaden sky trailing a streamer of smoke behind it and plummeted like a vengeful meteor into the crowd. At the same moment, Grub let fly with his sling with deadly accuracy. A goblin howled in pain as it was simultaneously struck by the burning sparkler and a slung stone. A murmur of panic went up from the horde.

Meredith took a long stride forward and brandished the staff again, shouting, "Be gone, or die!" A fortuitous crash of thunder punctuated her command.

Using one sparkler to light another, Brian got a third one going and tossed the second. Once again it streamed through the air and struck at the same time as Grub's projectile. They repeated this sequence over and over, while Molly barked and snarled and Meredith advanced menacingly.

Finally the goblins in the front line lost their nerve and broke rank. Dropping their weapons, they turned to flee, caring only to put as much distance between them and the merciless storm-witch and the jaws of her devil-dog as possible.

The result was pure mayhem. Hysterical with fear, the goblins trampled and fought with each other in their panic to get away. Into the midst of this chaos Brian and Grub continued to pour sparklers and stones. Meredith slowed, and then stopped her advance, allowing the goblins to escape. The bulk of the force was now swarming up the path and out of sight, leaving behind their straggling wounded. Miraculously, none had been killed.

At the head of the path, silhouetted by lightning flashes, the last goblin limped out of sight casting anxious glances over its shoulder as it fled. Meredith turned around to face Grub. She looked tired, but triumphant. "Now what? She asked.

The troll tucked his sling into his belt, and then cupped his chin in his hand thoughtfully. "Well, I don't think it'd be wise t' follow 'em. They might regroup or lay an ambush. So I reckon we'd best retreat an' find another route t' the south."

Brian held the last sparkler until it sputtered out. He tossed the still-glowing wire in the direction the goblins had gone. "I say we should follow 'em! They're no match for us!"

Grub raised an eyebrow. "And just what d'yer suggest we attack 'em with? Ya're all outta them sparky-things, an' we daren't risk wastin' Smiter on 'em. None o' us can use the bow, so that just leaves me n' my sling. No thanks."

The boy's enthusiasm faded at this, and he stared glumly at his feet. Meredith spoke up, "Okay, it's decided: we head south."

As night fell and the storm continued to rage overhead, they made their way back down the trail to a fork they had passed hours before. Following this new route, they pressed on until they could no longer see the way in front of them: a dangerous situation in this land of sheer rocky chasms and precipices. Settling for the minimal shelter provided by a low overhang, they finally stopped for the night. They could barely manage a meager meal before they were all asleep, relying on Molly to act as their watch against anything threatening. Several times during the night the border collie did sit up and stare, growling, into the darkness as strange, unseen creatures drifted by their camp. Whatever these were, and for whatever reason, they continued on by leaving the small party unmolested. Once she was sure they had gone, and that her charges were safe, Molly laid her head back down and fell quickly back to a light sleep.

The next morning they awoke shivering on their hard beds of stone: the storm had passed and the weather had turned clear and cold. None of them lingered over the morning meal: they were all eager to get going in order to warm up. They gathered up their things and trudged onward.

All of them were acutely aware that the ground was slowly rising toward the distant mountains, like gigantic steps stretched out across the landscape. The higher they went, the colder the air became, and the more tired they got from their exertions. The vegetation was scrubby and the few trees, stunted. Large birds that might have been eagles circled high in the sharp sky above them, disdainful of the mortals struggling along below.

They hadn't gone far before Grub called them to a sudden halt. In response to Meredith's and Brian's questioning looks he gestured at a faint plume of smoke rising a short ways ahead and to the north. "Looks like a campfire to me," he stated.

Meredith looked concerned. "What if it's goblins?"

The troll shrugged. "We can't keep goin' backwards...let's sneak up on 'em and see what's what. Maybe we can slip right by 'em."

Meredith's expression was skeptical, but the thought of giving up the entire morning's hard won ground was unthinkable. "Okay. But let's be careful. Brian, you take care of Molly, and for gosh sakes don't let her bark or get loose."

Brian nodded seriously. Together they moved closer to the rising smoke. The campsite seemed to be a short distance off of the path, and down in a gully. A small grove of emaciated pine trees surrounded the area, somehow finding nourishment in the barren earth. In fact, if there had been even the slightest breeze to disperse the smoke, the campsite would have been virtually undetectable.

Leaving Brian and Molly and most of their gear at the base of a steep, talus slope, Grub and Meredith scrambled their way upwards. Occasionally, loose stones slipped and tumbled as they went: each time this happened Grub would signal for Meredith to stop and wait for the movement to subside. They knew they had to be silent if they hoped to avoid alerting whoever was camped in the gully beyond.

Just short of the top of the ridge it became obvious that they could proceed no further without creating a tumult of crashing boulders, some of which might land on Brian and Molly below. Fortunately, one of the larger pine trees was growing out of the slope at that point. Grub turned back to Meredith and whispered, "I'll climb up an' have a look. Ya wait here."

With that he scampered up the tree trunk with surprising agility. Within seconds he was ensconced in its highest branches which, granted, were only several metres off the ground. Nevertheless, he was now afforded an excellent view into the gully. Down below, he could see, was a ragged-looking man with long scruffy hair and a similar beard, huddled before a small fire. He appeared to be roasting something on a spit. He was wearing animal skins and furs, which gave him a particularly primitive look. His only visible belongings were a large dagger tucked into his belt and a makeshift spear leaning against a rock nearby: everything else must be stuffed away in the small sack that lay on the ground beside him.

Grub looked down at Meredith's upturned face and whispered, "It's a man, not a goblin, an' 'e seems to be alone."

"What?" Meredith whispered back.

"I said: it's a man!" Grub hissed impatiently.

Meredith shook her head. "I can't hear you! Come down a bit."

With a muttered curse, the troll clambered back down the tree a few arm-lengths. He tried again, "I said, there's just one man...he's a dangerous-lookin' bloke, mind you. Seems to be cookin' somethin'. He's got a knife an' a spear."

Meredith frowned. "Are you sure he's alone?"

Grub rolled his eyes. "He was alone when I was lookin' at 'im!"

Meredith fixed him with one of her stares.

"All right, all right. I'll 'ave another peek," Grub grumbled.

He pulled himself back up to his perch and peered back down into the gully. The man was gone. So was his spear.

At that moment Brian's voice came to him faintly from behind. "Meredith, watch out...!"

Meredith cried out and a man's deep voice boomed, "Caught you, spy! Stop that damned struggling, or I'll slit your throat."

Looking down with a sickening feeling in his stomach, Grub could see that the man had somehow managed to sneak up on Meredith and grab her from behind. He now had one hand on her chin, pulling it up and back to expose her throat to the dagger he held in the other. Meredith had stopped struggling and gone limp with fear.

As Grub struggled to understand how he had moved so quickly and silently, the man suddenly looked up at him and shouted, "You there, in the tree. Come down at once...and don't try anything foolish if this one's life means anything to you!"

By now Molly was barking frantically and lunging against Brian's grip on her collar. The man turned a wary eye in her direction. "Boy!" he called to Brian, "I'll advise you to keep a firm grip on your hound: I'll cut it open if it attacks me."

Brian grabbed the collar with both hands.

Grub finally reached the base of the tree and dropped to the ground. As he raised himself up he got a better look at the man's face, and was shocked with recognition. "Darkmoor!" he shouted taking a step forward.

The man's dark eyes remained hostile. "Stay back! Or she dies!" he warned.

Grub's joyous expression became one of puzzlement. "Darkmoor, don't yer recognize me, man? It's Grub...yer old comrade! What's happened t' ya? Have ya gone mad?"

Now it was the man's turn to look confused. He relaxed his grip on Meredith ever-so-slightly and she dared to breathe again. "Grub?" he repeated more to himself than as a question.

The troll brightened and took another step forward. "That's right: Dante sent us to find you...and now we have!"

The man's craggy brow furrowed in concentration. "Dante...Grub...Darkmoor: these names are familiar...yet meaningless. Stay back, I say!" He thrust the dagger toward the approaching troll in a warding gesture.

Meredith seized the opportunity. Shouting, "Let go of me, you creep!" She drove her elbow backward into the unprepared man's stomach and at the same time stomped down hard on his foot. Then she wrenched herself free and went skidding down the slope in a reckless half-fall to where Brian and Molly stood.

The man grunted and doubled up, nearly losing his balance. When he recovered, cursing, he brought his dagger back up to threaten Grub. "All right, my little friend, it seems that it is you and I after all." He dropped into a fighting crouch.

Holding up his empty hands in a gesture of pacification, a nervous Grub said, "Now, just hold on there Darkmoor, don't be hasty. Try t' remember: ya an' yer brother Justyn in Fraeland...his attack on us an' Dante...the years we spent wanderin' in the wilderness...don't ya remember any of it?"

The man looked down at the ground, eyes narrowing as he strained to recall his lost past. He rubbed at a long scar just above his left temple, as though it was causing him pain.

Slowly, he shook his head. "No. There is nothing. And yet...the things you say are not completely foreign to me...Dante, for instance: the name evokes fond emotions such as one would feel toward one's father, or a favourite uncle. How do I know he truly sent you, as you claim?"

Instead of replying, Grub shouted down to Meredith, "Show 'im Smiter an' the pendant, mayhap that'll convince 'im."

Meredith responded by holding the staff up, and Brian pulled the dragon pendant out from beneath his sweatshirt—Meredith had returned to him soon after their reunion. Gesturing down slope toward them, Grub said, "Will you come see?"

The man eyed him suspiciously, and then shrugged. "Why not: I have little to fear from two children and a troll." Then he hesitated, looking down at the still snarling Molly. "The dog, on the other hand...," he continued.

"Will be kept under control," interjected Grub. "Right, Brian?"

The boy nodded vigorously.

The man sighed. "Very well. But I think I will take my spear along, if you don't mind." He leapt nimbly to where he had left the weapon leaning against a nearby tree yet still made it down to the others before Grub did.

The man stared fixedly at the dragon pendant for a long time, his lips pursed beneath the bushy black moustache. Then he inspected Meredith's staff from top to bottom, paying particular attention to the carved dragon at its head. Finally, he said, "May I?" and when Meredith nodded, reached out to touch the wood. His eyes flew wide at the strange vibration under his fingertips, but he said nothing.

"Well, what do ya think?" pressed Grub.

The man looked at him calmly. "I think that you may really be who you say you are, and that I may really be...Darkmoor, did you say? A strange name, but suitable, nonetheless. You must forgive my suspicious behaviour earlier; I have been wandering alone in these lands for as long as I can remember and have never before met a creature which wasn't set to kill me. But come, I have a perfectly good pika cooking back at my campsite: won't you come share it with me and tell me about yourselves and your mission? I am anxious to know more."

They followed him back up the slope and through a cleft hidden amongst the trees to find themselves in the gully where his campfire still burned. The pika, which turned out to be some sort of small, gopher-like animal, tasted delicious, though there was precious little to go around amongst all of them. Meredith contributed a loaf of the blacksmith's bread which helped to round out the meal. When they were through, and Grub had finished telling Darkmoor of their intent to march on the Ice Fortress itself, their host said, "I know not if what you are attempting is possible, or the purest folly, but my life as it has been is without purpose or meaning. There is a sense of destiny about you, and our meeting. If for no other reason, I will accompany you in order to learn more about the person I was, so that perhaps I may become that person again."

Grub was over-joyed to hear this: he leapt up and flung his arms around the tall man's waist. Darkmoor looked a little embarrassed by this display, but tolerated it nonetheless. When Grub stepped back, he said, "It's good to see ya again, ya big lout. Here, I've got a present fer ya."

With that he picked up the bow, the quiver full of arrows and the string and presented them all to Darkmoor, who accepted them admiringly. "This is a fine weapon, indeed," he noted.

Grub beamed. "You were a pretty good shot when I knew ye. Give 'er a go!"

While Darkmoor effortlessly strung the mighty bow, the troll scampered over to a pine tree at the far end of the gully and pinned a leaf to its trunk with his dagger. Then he ran back to the others. "There yer be...see if ya've still got it!" he encouraged.

Darkmoor nocked an arrow, then raised the bow, drew back the string, sighted and fired: all in one fluid motion. The arrow flew to the distant tree and struck the leaf dead-centre, imbedding its sharp head deep into the wood.

Grub and the children cheered and applauded. Darkmoor grinned broadly: an expression which seemed starkly out of place on such a rugged face.

"Ya see!" cried Grub. "Yer the Darkmoor I knew...just a bit hairier, t'is all!"

For the first time, Meredith felt a glimmer of hope that they might yet succeed on their quest.

By mid-day they had climbed high up the rugged shoulder of the mountain range. The air temperature had dropped steadily as they advanced, so it was no surprise to any of them when the first tiny white flakes began to fall from the dull grey sky above. Within minutes those few flakes had become a steady snowfall threatening to get worse. The pathway soon vanished from sight beneath a cold, white carpet.

When it became obvious that this was no passing storm, the group paused to bundle themselves up in every available scrap of cloth, leather, and fur that they had. From head to toe, they wrapped and stuffed: attempting to create as many insulating layers between themselves and the snow, as possible. Meredith even fashioned a fur coat for Molly, who remained singularly unimpressed at having to wear it.

The snow fell harder and harder as they pressed onward to the crest of the divide: a sort of saddle between two towering peaks. Out of nowhere, a shrieking wind came blasting down upon them, driving the snow at an almost horizontal angle. The cold seeped into their swaddled feet while the wind poked chilly fingers through every gap in their clothing and shot icy needles into their eyes. They were now dealing with near white-out conditions as the storm turned into a blizzard.

"We've got to find shelter!" Darkmoor shouted above the tumult of the wind.

"There's precious little t' be had around here!" Grub shouted back, indicating the sheer rock walls above and below them. "We'll 'ave t' keep goin' and hope t' find somethin' on the other side."

With visibility near zero, and hundred metre drops awaiting careless feet, they were forced to creep along hugging the rock face on the right hand side of the path. They moved in single file: Darkmoor first, followed by Meredith, Brian and Molly, and lastly, Grub.

Darkmoor's grey form suddenly vanished from Meredith's view. She thought she heard him yell, but the sound was snatched away from her by the wind. Panicking, she jumped after him, calling his name just as a sudden gust buffeted her sideways toward the rock face—except there was no rock face: she fell through empty space, arms wind milling. She landed with a jolt on the floor of a narrow opening in the rock: a natural crevice too small to be considered a cave. Darkmoor had already drawn himself up in a ball at the far end: he gestured for her to move further in. "Tell the others!" he called.

Meredith did so and one by one they crammed into the confined space. Fortunately, the opening went far enough back to enable them avoid the snow drifts at the mouth. They brushed themselves off as best they could and tried to make themselves comfortable. Since a fire would have run the double risk of burning and asphyxiating them, they could only huddle close to each other for warmth and wait for the storm, and the night, to end.

At one point, hours later, Meredith was awakened from a near-doze by Darkmoor crawling past her. Cold white light was shining down on the snow outside and reflecting into the crevice. Darkmoor noticed that he had awakened her. "Sorry," he whispered, "didn't mean to wake you. It's stopped snowing. I'm going to have a look around...care to join me?"

Anxious for an opportunity to stretch her cramped legs, Meredith followed him outside. They stood there on the path together in the knee-deep snow, looking out over the vast wintry landscape which fell away before them to the horizon. A full moon glared down on them from a cloudless sky. Diamond flecks of stars sparkled by the thousands across that whole black expanse above. White billows drifted about their heads as they breathed.

"The Frozen Wastes." Darkmoor's voice, too, was cold.

Meredith gave him a questioning glance. "How do you know? I thought you couldn't remember anything."

Without looking at her, he replied, "I'm not sure. The name just came to me...just as that does." He stretched out his arm, pointing toward a small object far in the distance. It looked like the upper-most, obelisk-shaped tower of a tall building of some kind. "The Ice Fortress...our destination."

With a shiver that was not entirely from the cold, Meredith turned and crept back to the relative warmth and comfort of the crevice.

Leaning over the table, Corporal Sidhu slammed his fist down in frustration. Dante sat unflinching across from him. "With all due respect, sir, that is the most pathetically obvious lie anyone has ever told me: people simply do not vanish into other worlds! Now, for the last time: I demand that you tell me the truth about what you have done with the children."

Dante smiled humourlessly, shaking his head sadly. "Unfortunately, your grasp of reality is so limited and narrow that you are unable to recognize the truth when it is right in front of you. I have told you what happened to the children: your inability to accept it doesn't make it any less true."

"If anyone's grasp of reality is suspect, here, it is yours!" Sidhu straightened and resumed his pacing. After a moment, he said, "Okay, okay...I am starting to think that you honestly believe these fantastical things you have been telling me...so it is either true, or you are mentally unstable. If it is true, you should be able to provide me with at least some tiny bit of proof. Show me an example of these magical powers of yours...I will bring you a mirror and you can show me how it links to another world. All right?"

Dante rolled his eyes. "I told you: the staff contained my power, and I gave it to the girl to take with her. Now I'm no more magical than you are."

The corporal raised one eyebrow, sardonically. "Oh? How convenient."

"Rather inconvenient, actually, or I could have avoided all of this nonsense," grumbled the old man.

"And you can offer me no other form of proof?"

"Their very absence is proof enough."

"I disagree. You may have simply hidden them where we have not yet thought to look. Or, you may have accomplices who spirited them off the Island. There is nothing otherworldly about missing children: it happens all too frequently." The corporal stopped in front of Dante and fixed him with an intense stare. "Yet you have a reputation for being a loner...a hermit, even, so I do not believe that you had help. I believe that you are mentally unbalanced and delusional: that you have done something to the children which you are trying to mask behind an elaborate fantasy as a means of avoiding the guilt of what you have done."

Dante snorted. "Nonsense."

"Oh? Then undergo voluntary psychiatric testing: that is the only means you now have to disprove my theory."

"Ridiculous!" Dante pushed his chair back from the table and turned his body away from the corporal.

Sidhu persisted, stepping around the table to face the old man once more. "No. Not ridiculous. But threatening, to you: it could force you to face the reality of what you have done."

"I've done nothing!" Dante replied angrily.

"Then why do you look so guilty? Why did you apologize to Mrs. Cardwell?"

"I have done nothing illegal, but I am still accountable."

Sidhu threw up his hands in disgust. "More riddles!" Silence fell between them for a long time. Sidhu continued to pace restlessly, while Dante stared morosely at his hands in his lap.

Finally, standing with his back to the old man, Sidhu asked quietly, "Do you consider yourself a good man?"

Without hesitating, Dante replied, "I have dedicated my entire life to the struggle against evil."

"You saw the mother, you know what she must be going through...you even tried to reassure her, didn't you?"

Dante nodded.

"Would you help her further, if you had the power to do so?"

"Certainly!"

Sidhu spun around suddenly, very intense. "Then take the test! I can not compel you to do so, but I do implore you! The doctor may be able to get at the truth...one way or the other it will prove or disprove your sincerity."

"If the doctor declares me sane, then will you believe me?"

"Sir Arthur Conan Doyle once put some very wise words into the mouth of his famous detective: 'When you have eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' I like to think that I am open-minded enough to follow that creed."

Dante sighed heavily. "So be it."

When Meredith opened her eyes the next morning she was nearly blinded by intense golden light streaming into their little refuge. Brian and Molly still lay snoring against each other, but Darkmoor and Grub were standing outside the crevice, silhouetted by the brilliant sunlight. Meredith yawned, gave her eyes a rub, and crawled out to join them. Her stiff limbs howled with pain as she slowly straightened outside, wincing.

"Good morning!" said Grub, cheerily, his breath turning into white billows as it hit the chill air. "Our journey's nearly over."

"If we don't freeze to death first!" Meredith grumbled, shivering.

The dry, powdery snow was nearly up to her knees: she was glad of the leather and fur wrappings that were bound around her feet by thongs. Still, her hands were nearly numb: she blew on them and clutched them to her chest to warm them.

Darkmoor scratched absently at his matted beard and said to Grub, "What is your plan, little man?"

The troll looked up at his tall companion with a frown. "The plan was t' find ya...after that I thought ya'd be in charge!" When Darkmoon just stared back at him blankly, Grub growled, "Ah, well...nevermind. You'll come right eventually." He turned to Meredith. "Rouse yer lazy brother an' that dog. We'll head out soon as you've eaten."

Meredith did as she was told, crawling back into the crevice and giving Brian a shake. He awoke saying, "Mom! Turn up the heat: it's freezin' in here!" Then his eyes blinked open and he realized where he was. Meredith could see his shoulders sag in resignation.

She slapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly. "Come on, sleepy-head, I hope you packed your skis!"

He groaned. Molly woke up and began to lick both their faces.

"Meredith," Brian whispered, "what do you think about that Darkmoor guy? He gives me the creeps."

"I know what you mean: something's not quite right with him. And he sure looks scruffy. Still, there's something about his eyes: they just make me feel like everything's going to be okay."

Brian put his hand on hers. "Is it, Meredith? Is everything going to be okay?" At that moment he looked very much like the scared little boy he was. Meredith felt a surge of love for her brother and she gripped his cold hand between both of hers.

"Yes. I really believe it will...somehow."

Brian smiled weakly. "I'm glad you came after me...thanks, Mer."

Meredith blinked back tears and tousled her brother's hair. "Yeah, well, who else have I got to pick on? Now get up: Grub want's to get going."

Brian mumbled something about Grub that Meredith didn't hear, but thought better of pursuing. She found them some dried meat and a stale roll for breakfast: now that they were feeding two extra mouths the supplies were dwindling fast. All she had left in her pack were some crackers, a package of smoked salmon and two sticks of gum. If they didn't get where they were going soon, they would all starve to death.

Before long they were trudging down the snowbound path in single file, taking great care not to get too close to the edge where a sheer drop to certain death awaited the slightest misstep. The clear air and sunshine was a welcome relief from the weather of the evening before.

By mid-day the land began to level and they crept out from the shadows of the mountains onto the vast plains of ice and snow beyond. It was as though they were walking on a gigantic glacier, or had been transported to the South Pole. Under the mantle of new snow lay hard, blue-white ice of indeterminate depth. The only sounds that disturbed the silence were the cracking and groaning of the ice as it shifted and moved with its own imperceptible rhythms.

Travel would have been relatively easy if the surface of the ice was smooth and level, but it was not: everywhere cracks and fissures split across its face and jagged spires thrust skyward, blocking their way. Progress was painstakingly slow because of these obstacles, which forced them to climb, crawl, and detour completely around.

Molly was a particular concern: her tendency to blunder blindly ahead would have been her undoing early on if Brian hadn't kept her close by on a rope-leash he had fashioned for her. As it was, they each saved the other from falling a number of times.

Twilight was upon them soon after the sun disappeared behind the mountains in the west. Travel was hazardous enough in daylight, when they could see the traps that suddenly yawned beneath their feet: to attempt to continue once darkness fell would be suicidal. They stopped to make camp early, even though they had covered less than half the distance they normally managed in a day.

Fortunately, Grub had had the foresight to bring a meager supply of firewood from the other side of the mountains, so they were able to enjoy a small fire. Although it supplied precious little heat, the cheery light it provided warmed them in another way. As they parceled out the last of the rations, including the smoked salmon, their spirits began to lift noticeably.

By now, Grub had told and retold his story to Darkmoor, who listened, intrigued, but still without any memory that all of this had actually happened to him. His memories seemed to begin a score of years before and consisted solely of trying to survive in the wilderness against animals, the weather, and the dark forces that continued to swarm over the land. He had survived, for the most part, by avoiding trouble, rather than meeting it head-on. He seemed to have many skills and wood lore, though from where, he knew not. The goblin troops in the area called him "the Ghost" and lived in supernatural fear of him.

Darkmoor pestered Grub to tell him more about his brother—Justyn—and Dante. There was something about the latter that touched a chord in the young man's damaged memory: a resonance that convinced him that what the troll told him was true.

It was while they were talking like this that the evening's peace was torn by a long, undulating howl far off in the distance. It was followed soon after by another, much closer...then another. Grub was on his feet in an instant, his face drained of colour. "Wolves!" he cried.

Darkmoor stayed where he was, his eyes wide with startled recognition. "Dire wolves..," he stated distantly. He began to massage the old scar on his temple.

Grub cast him a curious glance. "We've faced these a'fore, ya an' I. Just a'fore we were separated...do ya remember?"

Darkmoor's reply was hesitant, "Yes, yes...I think I do...."

"Good: then maybe ya've got a suggestion fer what we should do now!"

The howling--which had continued sporadically during this exchange--suddenly stopped. To Meredith, the silence was even more ominous.

"Maybe they've gone away," offered Brian, his voice hopeful.

Even as his words drifted into the night, two baleful points of green light appeared in the darkness beyond the light of the fire. They hung there, motionless, watching.

Molly lunged forward, barking frantically. Fortunately Brian was still holding onto her rope lead. Even so, his arm was nearly yanked out of its socket. He screamed in pain.

The two green lights winked out. Grub grabbed Brian and hauled him and the dog backwards with a strength that was far greater than his stature would suggest. Then he snatched a flaming brand out of the fire and thrust it into Brian's free hand. "Here," he said, "Stay by the fire an' stick this in their face if one of 'em jumps ya. Whatever ya do, hang onto that dog, or she'll be mincemeat!"

With that he pulled out his sling and loaded it. "Meredith, stand with yer back t' yer brother. Bash 'em with Smiter if they get too near, but fer heaven's sake, don't use up any charges unless ya have too!"

All around them outside the ring of light of the fire, half-a-dozen more pairs of green light suddenly appeared and faint greyish shapes began to prowl.

"They're huge!" cried Meredith, stark terror edging her voice.

Grub ignored her. "Darkmoor! Yer bow, man: string it quickly!"

Snapping out of trance-like inaction, Darkmoor sprang into motion. Within seconds the mighty bow was strung and an arrow nocked. With the string half-drawn, he tracked the wolves as they circled like sharks around the perimeter. He grinned with a kind of mad delight. "Grub! I remember now! I remember everything!" he cried.

Ignoring his companion's outburst the troll shouted, "Fire!" and let fly with his sling.

Simultaneously an arrow went hissing toward its mark. Two distinct yelps followed instantly.

"Again!" cried Grub. Once more the projectiles flew, but this time only the arrow found its target, inspiring a third yelp of pain.

Molly continued to bark and lunge, but Brian held on tenaciously, holding the burning stick up like a sword.

Muttering a curse, Grub bent to reload. A snarling white monster came plunging out of the dark as he did, its slavering jaws snapping shut on air where his neck had been an instant before. Just the same, it collided squarely with the troll's right shoulder, completely bowling him over.

"Grub!" cried Meredith, but before she could move to help him a second wolf charged at her. Instinctively, she brought the staff down hard on its snout, side-stepping as she did. Smiter glowed blue as it fell, but did not discharge on contact. The wolf cried out in pain and, unable to halt its forward motion in time, ran right into the campfire.

All chaos broke loose. The wolf's fur caught fire and it went crazy, thrashing about the campsite trying to escape from the pain. It grazed Brian with its shoulder, knocking him off-balance. He relaxed his grip on the rope just as Molly yanked it out of his grasp. Darkmoor continued to fire arrow after arrow into the wolves as they circled. He murmured strange words as he did, causing the arrows to glow with the same blue light as Dante's staff. One or two wolves dropped in their tracks, but most fled, impaled.

The wolf that had toppled Grub now stood over him; its upper lip pulled back an enraged snarl that revealed its fearsome, yellow fangs. The troll struggled desperately to draw his sword, but it was pinned hopelessly beneath him. The wolf tensed itself to strike.

Out of nowhere, Molly crashed into the side of the wolf, locking her jaws on its neck. The wolf twisted around in surprise, snapping viciously at its attacker. Molly dodged and spun, somehow managing to avoid the fangs of the larger animal, which could crush her leg in an instant, given the chance.

At last Grub was able to roll out from under the wolf as it writhed and struggled with the border collie. He leapt to his feet and drew his sword in one smooth motion then stood crouched, waiting for an opening. The wolf's teeth snapped shut on Molly's front left shoulder. The dog screamed and released its own grip on the wolf's neck. Sensing victory, the wolf bore down on its helpless victim, turning to position itself to deliver the fatal bite. As it did so, oblivious to the troll, it exposed its unprotected right flank. Grub struck.

His carefully aimed stab caught the wolf between its fourth and fifth rib: the keen point of the sword sank straight and unerringly into its heart. The wolf's body went rigid, its head jerked up, releasing Molly, then it toppled forward, nearly crushing the border collie as she struggled to escape. Nothing happened for a moment, and then there was a hissing sound as the wolf's body began to bubble and smoke. Within seconds the fur and flesh beneath dissolved into vapor, followed shortly thereafter by the bones and skull. Nothing remained behind except a blackened patch in the snow. Grub felt the sword in his hand grow hot as the blood on its blade vaporized also.

The battle was over. The remaining wolves melted away into the night as quickly and silently as they had come. Meredith rushed to Molly's side where she lay panting in the snow. The wolf's bite had left a long, jagged wound on the dog's shoulder, which was bleeding heavily. Brian threw off the fur he was using as a jacket and ripped the remaining sleeve off of his sweatshirt. "Here, use this as a bandage!" he said urgently.

Crouching beside the dog, Grub laid his heavy hand tenderly on her head. "Ya saved my life, ya did. Never thought I'd owe my life to a bloody dog! Now just hang on there...we'll 'ave ya right as rain in a minute or two." He took the rag from Brian and pressed it gently, but firmly onto the wound.

Grub looked up at the others. "We need somethin' to close 'er up with: some coarse thread and a needle...do ya have any such things?"

They all shook their heads. Meredith felt a sickness in her stomach. Suddenly, Brian piped up, "Wait a minute! There's some fishin' line and a hook in the pack. Will that do?"

Grub beamed. "Absolutely! Good lad!"

When they had staunched the bleeding and closed the wound, Grub sat back with a satisfied sigh. "That'll hold 'er for now," he stroked Molly's head and she licked his hand meekly. "But with nought to clean the wound it's almost certain to turn gamy."

Before anyone could comment, a familiar voice came out of the darkness, "Well, well...what have we here? Looks like you've run into a spot of trouble. Is everyone all right?"

The numerologist stepped out of the shadows and into the light of what was left of the fire.

Corporal Sidhu stood in the darkened observation room watching Dante through a large two-way mirror. The old man was standing motionless in front of the mirror, staring impassively into it—towards Sidhu, without seeing him—as he had been for the past twenty minutes since the interview with clinical psychologist ended. Dante's features were drawn with stress and fatigue. He clearly was unhappy and uncomfortable about something. He looked much older than he had on his verandah, just a few days before.

A door opened behind Sidhu and he turned to see Dr. Kenson, the psychologist coming into the room. She was in her mid-thirties, with long brown hair pulled back from her attractive face. She wore rather plain, unflattering glasses which she habitually pushed back up on the bridge of her nose. She was wearing the standard lab coat over a tasteful skirt and blouse. She crossed the room and offered him her hand. "Good afternoon. You must be Corporal Sidhu...I'm Katherine Kenson, Mr. Dante's psychologist."

Sidhu shook the extended hand. "Pleased to meet you. What have you found?"

She smiled slightly. "Very direct: I like that." She stepped past him to look at Dante, who remained motionless. She hugged her clipboard to her chest, frowning. "He's a strange one, no doubt about it. It's the most amazing case I've ever seen, actually. He is obsessive, delusional, yet otherwise incredibly lucid. "

"Did he tell you about this Fray-land of his?" asked the corporal.

She looked at him and nodded. "Oh yes. And more...much more."

"So what do you make of him? Is he a fraud, or does he have a genuine problem?"

Dr. Kenson looked down at a page of notes on her clipboard. "Oh, he's no fraud, Corporal. I think he could beat one of your polygraphs hands down, he believes so strongly in what he says."

Sidhu nodded. "His recollections are certainly detailed."

"Oh, that's not at all uncommon in these cases. The individual manufactures the most elaborate past lives filling them with carefully detailed people and things far beyond the fabrications of even the worst pathological liar. In fact, I've never met a patient this convinced and convincing. His fantasy is so elaborate and extensive that he can recount the events of an entire lifetime: people, places...all of them set in an imaginary world of his own making.

"Another thing: although he is very evasive about it, his role in that world seems to have been that of a mentor-like, Merlin figure. Now, I've met Napoleons and Hitlers in my time, even a Christ or two, but this is my very first Merlin. At least that's a basically good persona."

Sidhu frowned. "But what about the two children?"

"He seems genuinely concerned about them, particularly the girl. He seems to feel a greater degree of responsibility for what has happened to her, although he has admitted to being indirectly responsible for the boy's fate, as well. If he has done them any harm, I don't think that it was intentional."

"Intentional or otherwise, we need to know what he has done with them...in reality."

She nodded. "Yes, obviously, but I'm not sure I can peel enough of the layers back to reach the truth: I've already tried hypnosis, which usually reaches down deeper than the conscious, fabricated defenses, but his fantasy never lets up. For all intents and purposes it is reality...at least for him."

A thoughtful silence settled over them as they both watched the old man. The way he seemed to stare right through the mirror, straight at them made Sidhu feel uneasy. There was definitely something odd about this one. "What is he doing?" he asked.

Dr. Kenson bit her lip, and then said, "Mirrors seem to hold some special significance for him. I thought initially that it was some kind of phobia, but if so, he has certainly overcome it: when he's not sleeping, eating, or talking to me, he just stands there like that, staring. I would say that he's in a self-induced, trance-like state. Combined with his worsening depression, I'm afraid it could easily degenerate into catatonia." She gave Sidhu a very grave look. "If we're ever going to find the answers you're after, we'd better do it soon, before he opts out of this world altogether."

After a long re-introduction and extensive briefing, the little numerologist had resumed his backward journey through time to keep his appointment with their earlier selves. As he had told them previously: without the bow and arrows, the outcome of their encounter with the wolves had been much worse.

Darkmoor was completely recovered. With excitement, he recounted to them how he had become separated from Grub years before when a Dire Wolf had leapt upon him, knocking him down a steep embankment. The wolf had been killed in the fall, and Darkmoor himself had suffered a serious blow to the head, which rendered him unconscious for a period of time. When he came to, he had no recollection of who he was or how he had come to be there. He had wandered off, and spent the intervening time merely trying to survive in a harsh and unforgiving environment. Fortunately, his extensive wood lore and finely-developed fighting skills had remained intact.

The next morning they gathered up as many arrows as they could, but those that had found their marks were badly damaged by the dissolution of the dead wolves' bodies. Molly's wound was quite swollen and inflamed: it seemed that the predicted infection was setting in after all. She attempted to lick at her wound, but it was located beyond her reach. Meredith bathed it with water; there was little else she could do. The most surprising thing was Grub: whereas before, he barely tolerated the dog and would have little to do with her, now he fussed over her, offering her scraps of his food and stroking her to soothe her. Of course, Molly took full advantage of this change of attitude.

Their limited wood supply had run out in the middle of the night robbing them of even the minimal warmth it had provided. Despite sleeping under the space blanket with Brian and Molly, Meredith had woken up shivering, her hands and feet dangerously numb. Darkmoor had gotten them all stamping their feet and rubbing their hands to encourage the vital circulation and prevent frostbite from setting in. It didn't help that an ice-toothed wind had come up, stirring glittering particles of snow and sending flying into the travelers' eyes.

They packed up their gear and resumed the trek towards the Ice Fortress. For lack of a better plan, their intent was to walk right up to the gates and confront Justyn directly. They had no idea how strong his magic was, or how many goblins and other troops he might possess, but they had Smiter and Darkmoor's own powers to draw upon and felt an new optimism since their victory over the Dire Wolves.

The path they trod was well-worn by the coming and going of goblin armies, but treacherous nonetheless. Fresh fractures criss-crossed the ice before them: ranging in size from a hands-breadth across to several metres. These obstacles necessitated lengthy detours around to find the narrow end where they could all safely leap across. It was on one of these detours that Brian felt the snow suddenly give way beneath his feet and he plunged downward into the icy embrace of a hidden crevasse.

"Brian!" shrieked Meredith helplessly from behind. At the front of the group, Darkmoor spun around with an apprehensive look on his face. Grub sprang forward for the boy's flailing hand as it disappeared from sight. He landed hard, knocking the wind out of his lungs, his hand closing on empty air.

Brian dropped through space briefly, and then struck the cold, hard wall of the fissure. The ice was smooth, but ribbed and uneven. He continued to slide. A bright flash of pain exploded in his left hip, and then another flared in his forehead as it smashed against an icy outcrop. His vision greyed as his consciousness wavered. Just as he was beginning to think he would fall forever his descent was abruptly arrested as his legs wedged tightly between the narrowing walls of the fissure. A torrent of snow and ice particles continued on past him into the dark depths below.

The boy moaned weakly and tried to move his arms; one responded, but the other was pinned at a painful angle behind him. Both legs were held fast by the vice-like walls of ice. Squinting, his eyes watery and unable to focus, he tilted his head back slightly to look back the way he came. Impossibly far up, silhouetted against the pale blue of the sky, he could see three heads peering down at him.

"Brian!" came Meredith's worried voice, "Are you okay?"

He tried to respond, but all that came out was a pained croak.

"Catch...the end of the...rope, lad...we'll 'ave ya...outta there...in a flash!" Grub this time, strangely breathless.

A dark length of rope snaked downward toward the boy, bringing another shower of ice particles with it. Brian sputtered and wiped at his eyes with his one free hand. When he could see again he looked up to find that the end of the rope was dangling enticingly about two metres above his head: out of reach. He stretched his arm out, nevertheless, but let it drop with a gasp when it became obvious his efforts were futile.

"It's not long enough!" Meredith again. "He can't reach it!"

He heard grumbling from the troll, then protracted debate amongst all of them on what to do next. Someone suggested lowering a rescuer down by the rope, but the only one small enough not to get wedged before reaching Brian was Grub, and he wasn't tall enough to bridge the distance between the rope's end and the boy. A frightening silence ensued.

Finally, Darkmoor spoke in a commanding tone, "Boy, can you hear me? If you can hear me, wave your hand."

Brian waved his hand weakly.

"Good. Now listen to me carefully: I want you to relax. You can't fall any further, so don't worry about that. Just imagine you are home in your bed, dreaming. Imagine you are as light as a thistle seed on a summer breeze. Close your eyes. You can feel yourself drifting weightlessly up on the breeze. Concentrate: no matter what else happens you must concentrate."

Brian did as he was told. It was hard to relax with his arm bent backwards behind him, and harder still to imagine a summer's breeze with ice pressing against his front and back, but he did the best that he could. Although he was unaware of it, above him Darkmoor had extended both arms down toward Brian, closed his own eyes and began to murmur in some strange language. Liquid blue light began to flow down his arms to shoot from the tips of his outstretched fingers towards the trapped boy. The shadowy crevasse was suddenly illuminated with a cold, blue light as the bolt of energy coalesced around Brian and started to pulsate.

Brian felt a sudden tingling sensation like the time he had touched that electrical, silver ball-thing at Science World in Vancouver. Just as it had then, his hair slowly stood on end. Although he desperately wanted to open his eyes to see what was going on, he heeded Darkmoor's directive and continued to focus on being weightless.

Darkmoor's brow creased in concentration as he poured his energy and his willpower out to the boy. The beam of blue light that connected them began to draw back on itself, pulling upward. Brian felt gentle, but irresistible pressure as it strained against the ice that held him prisoner. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he was lifted out of the fissure, the aquamarine walls sliding downward past his clenched eyes.

Meredith started to give a cheer of encouragement, but Grub silenced her with a hand over her mouth. When she looked at him in annoyance he raised a finger to his lips gesturing for silence. Realizing that she shouldn't do anything to disturb Darkmoor's concentration, she complied.

Brian's arm came free, but hung uselessly at his side: it was completely numb from lack of circulation. His hip and head were throbbing from their injuries, yet still he managed to keep his thoughts centred on the essential feeling of lightness.

At last his head and shoulders reached the surface where both Grub and Meredith grabbed hold of him and hauled him up over the edge. The blue light vanished and Darkmoor sprawled backward in the snow, gasping. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead despite the winter conditions.

Having assured herself that her brother was all right, Meredith hurried to Darkmoor's side, taking a hold of his hand and supporting his head with her arm. "Are you okay?" she asked.

The prince's eyes fluttered open, staring unseeingly for a moment, then gradually focused on Meredith's concerned face. He smiled disarmingly. "Yes...I'll be fine...just give me a moment."

Grub appeared at her elbow. "It's the magic...takes alot outta 'im. Always did."

Darkmoor reached up an put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Aye, he said, "That's why Dante created Smiter; it acts as a buffer and an amplifier of the energies used to work magic."

Meredith looked over to where she had dropped the staff during the panic over Brian. "Well then, you should have it...especially if we are going up against your brother."

Darkmoor favored her with another smile. "As a matter of fact, I've been hoping you would come around to that conclusion before I actually had to ask for it: it's always better if it is given freely."

Brian and Molly both limped up at that point. "Then you should have this too." He held out Dante's dragon pendant.

Meredith looked puzzled. "But, that's not magic, is it?"

Darkmoor shook his head. "Not as such, no, but it possesses a certain power, nonetheless: it is the talisman of Fraeland's greatest wizard and his sign. As such it is potent indeed." He bowed his head to Brian. "I would be honoured to accept your offer, but only until we complete our mission: then, if all has gone well, we can return it to Dante."

Brian seemed very satisfied with this proposal. He handed the pendant over to Darkmoor for safe-keeping.

They decided to take a break to allow Darkmoor time to recover. The last of the water, complete with ice crystals, was carefully divided amongst them. When the canteen was empty Grub refilled it with snow, hoping that by carrying next his body it might melt and replenish their supply. The only food remaining was a handful of ginger snaps, which were also distributed with care. Darkmoor refused his share, insisting that Meredith and Brian split it, but they argued that, given the trials ahead, his strength would be more important than theirs. Seeing that they would not be convinced otherwise, he shrugged and gratefully devoured the scraps of cookies.

Frozen, half-starved, and fatigued, they trudged onward to their goal. None of them was without injuries of some sort, even if they were mere scrapes and blisters. They looked more like refugees than warriors on a mission.

What kind of shape will we be in to fight at the end of this journey? Meredith wondered to herself.

They had caught glimpses of the Fortress periodically all day long as it loomed ever nearer. But now, as they crested a slight rise and marched down the final stretch of path leading directly to the gates they had plenty of time to examine it in all its glory. The Ice Fortress was obelisk-shaped, though a bit squatter. It genuinely appeared to be made of ice: its sides gleamed golden white in the late afternoon sun. The gates were immense: nearly eight metres tall and five wide. They were made of the purest adamant and looked like they could resist any force that could be brought against them.

Here and there in the malevolent face of the Tower small windows were set, like the multiple eyes of a spider. Indeed, as they crept forward down the road, Meredith felt as though they were under the close scrutiny of watchers, there above. It made her feel small and vulnerable. At any moment, she expected the gates to swing open and all the hordes of Hell to come pouring down upon them.

But that didn't happen.

In fact, the Tower was strangely still: there wasn't a single sign of life anywhere. And in some ways, that was more ominous still.

They arrived at the gates unchallenged. To their amazement, they were slightly ajar, opening inward. With wary glances at one another, they proceeded inside.

Stepping across the threshold, they felt warm air envelope them. Somehow, the interior was maintained at a comfortable room temperature, but the ice of the walls—and most of the furniture as it turned out—remained unaffected. They found themselves in a huge chamber, lavishly decorated with the finest curtains, tapestries, carpets, and even a spectacular chandelier hanging down from the vaulted, cavernous ceiling.

Faint classical music filled the air, but no source was discernable. Directly opposite them, on a raised dais, was an opulent golden throne. Sitting in the throne, watching them expectantly, was a strikingly handsome young man with shoulder-length, curly blond hair. He was scrupulously clean-shaven, which served to make him look even younger than he was. His skin was baby smooth and flawless. His eyes were intensely blue and his teeth as he smiled were gleaming white and perfect. Meredith's breath caught for a second as she gazed upon this angel-like being, immediately attracted to him.

The man was clad in a simple white tunic with gold edging. He wore a light gold circlet, which might have been a crown, on his head. In one hand he held a thin, rod-like scepter, also made of gold. Brian was instantly reminded of pictures of the Greek god Apollo he had seen in school.

As they all stood slack jawed on the threshold, the man spoke into the slightly echoey chamber. "Welcome! I've been awaiting you for some time, now!" He beckoned them onward. "Enter, enter! Have no fear!"

The travelers looked at each another, somewhat nonplused, then stepped forward as one. Meredith spoke up, "You knew we were coming?"

"Oh yes: word of your exploits has preceded you."

He paused to wait for them to cross the expanse of floor between the gates and the throne. As they drew near he spoke again, "I am the Emperor Justyn of Fraeland, Lord and Protector of the Borderlands, the territory of Halflight, and the quaintly named Frozen Wastes. I receive you as honored and welcome guests who...," he never finished the sentence. Instead, he stared fixedly at Darkmoor, and at the staff, Smiter, in his hand. His jaw fell, somewhat comically. "Darkmoor! My own dear brother! By all the gods, is it you? I thought you were dead! Where is your master, Dante?"

Darkmoor stared back at him coldly. His own tone was flat when he spoke. "It is I, brother, and I have come to to destroy the Portal and put an end to your rule."

"Portal? What portal?" Justyn seemed confused. "Surely you do not mean that trivial error I made in my errant youth?" He threw his head back laughing. Wiping tears from his eyes, he concluded, "I assure you, dear brother, that our mutual mentor took care of that little indiscretion years ago." He paused, then added, "I see you bear his staff, and wear his emblem: is he dead, then?"

Brian thought he heard a note of hopefulness in that last question.

Darkmoor spoke sternly, "I am happy to report that Master Dante is alive and well, despite your desire that he might be otherwise. He has sent me here to destroy the Portal, and your evil, forever."

Justyn put a hand to his mouth to half-cover a smirk. "Oh, brother, you always did have a flair for the dramatic. I told you already: there is no Portal."

"We shall see," said Darkmoor under his breath.

Justyn stood up and came forward for a closer look at his guests. "Come now, brother: won't you introduce me to your companions? The troll I know, of course...Grubby, or something, wasn't it?"

"Grub!" corrected the troll indignantly.

Justyn clapped his hands together. "Ahh, yes...of course." He stopped before Meredith, eyeing her up and down. "And who is this young beauty?" He bowed before her, grandly.

"This is Meredith and her brother, Brian," said Darkmoor. "They travel under Dante's warrant: you will do them no harm."

"Of course not...why would I want to harm such charming children? Really, Brother, you must be more charitable," Justyn's tone was suddenly petulant. He turned to look at Molly. "And what a fine hound you have here," he leaned over to pat her, but thought better of it when her lip curled back in a snarl. "Hmmm, she must be feeling ill-tempered because of that wound. I could fix it for her, you know."

"Really?" Brian blurted out, hopefully. Darkmoor restrained him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"That won't be necessary," he said, "We will have her seen to soon enough."

Justyn shrugged. "Suit yourself...though it doesn't seem fair to the poor creature."

Suddenly brightening, he announced, "Well, as I said: welcome to my humble dwelling! You may stay here for as long as you like. But come, the hour grows late and you all look tired and hungry: let me show you to your rooms and offer you some repast. You will feel much better in the morning and we can talk some more. Please, come this way."

With that he turned and strode toward a huge spiral staircase that led to the next level of the fortress.

The others hesitated, looking to Darkmoor for direction. He watched his brother with narrowed, calculating eyes for a moment, then indicated with a jerk of his head that they were to follow.

When they reached the foot of the icy stairs, Meredith was relieved to see that an opulent red carpet ran down their centre, providing good footing. As they proceeded upwards she leaned over to Darkmoor and whispered, "He seems nice enough."

Darkmoor snorted, saying, "'Seems' is the operative word there. Don't allow yourself to be deceived."

"Then why are we following him?"

"I have to find the Portal: if I can make that task easier by playing along with his foolish games, so be it."

Unconvinced, Meredith lapsed into silence.

They reached the top of the stairs and started down a long hallway lined with doors. The hall was illuminated by a soft, greenish glow coming from within the icy walls. There was a charged feeling to the air, similar to the vibration in Smiter; Meredith assumed it was caused by similar magical energies.

Justyn stopped at one particular door and swung it inwards with a grandiose gesture. "For the lady and her brother...the adjoining room should accommodate you, my brother, and your little friend, Grim."

"That's 'Grub'," growled the troll, again.

Ignoring him, the prince continued, "I will bring you some food and drink in a moment. First, please go on in and make yourselves comfortable."

Meredith and Brian filed into the indicated room with Molly, who sniffed everything cautiously along the way. Two large four-poster beds dominated the space, but there were several chairs and an oak writing desk as well. A jug and washing bowl stood on a small table near French doors that led out onto a broad balcony. On the right hand wall a door stood ajar: it connected with the room next door, where Darkmoor and Grub now appeared. Grub gave a little, self-conscious wave of acknowledgement. Meredith waved back and started looking for somewhere to stow her pack. Brian flopped onto his back on one of the beds and heaved a vast sigh of pleasure. Compared to the hard ground he was used to sleeping on, it was pure luxury.

Justyn, true to his word, hustled off, only to return a short while later with their dinners. Meredith wondered briefly how he could have prepared so much in such a short time, but her hunger won over her natural fear. Since all four were ravenous they made short work of the meal, as well as the liquid refreshments provided. Although Darkmoor refrained from having any of the chilled ale, Grub could not resist...before long he was sprawled on his bed, snoring. Darkmoor gave him a disapproving glare, but sat back in one chair with his booted feet up on another, ready to begin his watch.

Justyn bade them a good night and went about his business.

Meredith turned to make a comment to Brian, only to find that he had fallen sound asleep on his bed. She pulled the thick comforter up over him and watched his peaceful face with affection for a long time before she blew out all but one of the oil lamps—they provided a somewhat cheerier illumination than the glowing walls—and lay down herself.

Hours crept by, but Meredith only slept fitfully, worrying about what their next move would be. Finally, just before dawn, she gave up trying to sleep and went out onto the balcony for some fresh air. The shock of the temperature difference almost drove her back inside, but the beautiful, moon-lit landscape stretching out below held her there in its spell. There was an unreality, a dream-like quality to the scene: for a moment she could almost believe that she would wake up in her bed at home and all of this would be over. She stood there in a kind of trance until her shivering became so violent that she snapped out of it.

"Here," came a voice from behind her, "you'd best wrap up in this."

With a gasp, Meredith spun around to see Justyn. He stood there with a luxuriant sable cape held in his hands. He smiled. "It's all right: I won't bite you. Put this on." He stepped forward and draped the cape over her shoulders. Meredith snuggled into it, grateful for the warmth.

"Don't you know it isn't fair to where fur?" she asked, half-teasingly.

Justyn raised an eyebrow, but said, "Oh? Well, I can assure you that this fur never belonged to any animal—I just created it a moment ago."

Meredith accepted this as though it was a perfectly ordinary explanation. Somehow, in this magical setting, nothing seemed impossible any more. A sudden thought occurred to her. "How did you know I was out here?" she asked.

"I saw you from my own balcony...I suppose neither one of us could sleep."

"But how did you get here?"

Justyn laughed softly. "I didn't just materialize, if that's what you think...my powers do have their limits. I simply walked silently so as not to disturb your companions. Even the dog failed to notice me."

Meredith noticed a trace of arrogance in his tone as he mentioned this, but it was gone when he spoke again, "I suppose they have told you terrible things about me, haven't they?"

Her response was to turn away from him, leaning her elbows on the balcony much as she had leaned on the railing of that ferry in what seemed like another lifetime, now.

He joined her at the railing. "It is important to me that you know I am not the man they say I am. With the exception of my folly of a decade ago, I have harmed no one. And I wasn't much older than you are when that happened."

"If there's no Portal, where did all those goblins and things come from?"

"The goblins came through the Portal, true enough, but that was before Dante destroyed it."

"If he destroyed it, why did he send us here to do the same?"

"Because he disappeared from this world before he could see that he had actually destroyed the Portal."

Meredith thought about that for a while, and then asked, "Okay, then why do you live out here all by yourself?"

Justyn lowered his gaze and spoke softly, "I was angry with Dante and my brother at first, but after they both vanished into the wilderness I felt responsible...and terribly guilty. The people I sent out after them were search parties to bring them back home, not kill them. But no trace of them was found. Since there was no one left to punish me, I chose to punish myself: I came here to live in exile until the day that they returned to Fraeland, if they ever did. In the hope of that, I even enlisted goblins to continue the search."

Meredith nodded slowly, piecing it all together. "And that's how we got involved: some goblins found Brian and grabbed him thinking he was Dante. But why did they treat him like a prisoner?"

Justyn shrugged. "You know what goblins are like...."

"Actually, I don't...but I get your point."

"So, do you believe me?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Still, I can't imagine why you care what I think, I'm just a kid."

Justyn put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. "I could tell from the moment I saw you that you are more than that...you are beautiful, intelligent....special." He released her and turned away, walking off a few steps. "You can't imagine what it's like to live alone here, year after year. How I've longed to hear another's voice...to talk to someone besides myself! At times I feared that I might go mad."

He turned back to face her, his expression intense. "But now you are here. You say that you are still a child, but I say you are a lovely young woman, wise beyond her years. In time, the difference in our ages will no longer matter. Then you could be my bride and empress. Until then I could be your mentor...your tutor...there is so much that I could teach you. Wonders you have never dreamed of! Please say that you will stay, for this is where you truly belong!"

He spoke with such passion that Meredith was genuinely stirred. Her mind was filled with confusion and conflicting emotions. There was something irresistibly attractive about this man, something that spawned a longing, and aching inside of her that she had never experienced before. It made her childish crushes on the boys at school seem so trivial by comparison. She felt as if she could spend a lifetime talking to him and never run out of things to say...as if she could never tire of hearing his voice and gazing into his dreamy blue eyes. He seemed so sure of himself and masculine, yet gentle and caring. She wondered what it would be like to be held in his arms and....

Suddenly, like a beam of light through fog, her rationale mind thrust a question forward into her consciousness. "But, now that Darkmoor has returned, why can't you go back to Fraeland? Why do you need to be alone anymore?"

Justyn appeared taken aback by her questions: a look of consternation flashed across his face and he began to stammer. "Well, uh, I...uh, you see....it's not as simple as...," he stopped abruptly, an expression of utter shock and horror frozen on his face. He seemed to stare right through her without seeing, as though he was focused on some inner vision. "No!" he cried suddenly with such vehemence that his voice cracked painfully. His face was completely transformed into a contorted mask of hatred and rage. "Fool! How dare he? He'll pay dearly for this!" With that he spun about on his heel and dashed back into the room.

Not sure what she should do, but sensing that something important was about to happen, Meredith charged after him, tossing the fur cape aside. A glance through the open door to the next room showed her no sign of Grub or Darkmoor. On her right hand, Brian was lying on his bed, propped up on his elbows and blinking sleepily. "What's happening?" he asked as she ran by.

Urgently, Meredith cried, "Just grab the pack and follow me! Hurry!" Then she was through the door to the hall in mad pursuit of the prince, who was already disappearing around the nearest corner.

With a curse, she put on an additional burst of speed, tired though she was from the long day's march. She hoped Brian would be able to catch up, but didn't dare to slow down or wait for him for fear of losing Justyn altogether. As it was, she was following him mainly by the sound of his distant footfalls, although she caught glimpses of him time and again.

To her dismay, she soon found herself bounding up a massive staircase: she resorted to hauling herself onward with the handrail. The stairs were ascending to the top level of the Ice Fortress; they wound around and around the inside wall in an ever-shrinking, square-sided spiral.

As she peered upwards in the green-lit gloom she could see Justyn leaping ahead, his long-legged stride devouring three stairs at a time. He was holding his white robes up with one hand to keep from tripping on them. In the other he still clutched the small golden wand. While she watched, he reached a narrow landing bordered by three blank walls and one with a window. Cold silver moonlight shone through the window onto the ice floor of the landing. The wall opposite the window had a blackened scorch mark at its centre, as though it had been blasted by something.

Justyn gestured impatiently in the direction of the wall and muttered words Meredith couldn't hear. The wall seemed to waver and ripple, then part of it turned into a heavy oaken door, which still bore the blast mark and stood partly open.

The prince's pace slowed as he paused to take in the scene before him, then he threw the door open wide and strode through. Gasping, her lungs aching, Meredith forced herself onward, arriving on the landing a few moments later. Like Justyn, she stopped there to let her brain register what she was seeing. It took away the little breath she had left. Her head spun and she felt as though she was about to pass out, but she shook it off through sheer force of will. The door opened into a large, unfurnished room. The opposite wall was almost entirely obscured by a strange, multi-coloured, swirling vortex. The air was charged with sorcerous energy and smelled of ozone. Darkmoor and Grub stood with their backs to Meredith, facing the vortex. Darkmoor was slowly raising his arms above his head, a brightly-glowing Smiter clutched in his right hand. From the expanding blue ball of light at it's head, it was clear that the staff was about to discharge a bolt of energy at the vortex.

Justyn stood just inside the doorway, also with his back to Meredith. He, too, raised his arms, but in a much faster, striking motion toward Darkmoor. There was a blinding flash of green light. Meredith instinctively put up a hand to shield her eyes from the brilliance. When it subsided she lowered her hand to a disturbing sight: Darkmoor was now encased in a huge block of greenish ice—only the arm holding Smiter was unaffected. As she watched in horror, the fingers clutching the staff weakened and lost their grip: Smiter clattered to the icy floor, it's blue radiance ebbing rapidly.

Justyn gave a chilling laugh of triumph. "At last, my long years of waiting are rewarded!" he cried. "I may not have Dante, but I have you and his precious staff, which is nearly as good."

Recovering from the shock of what had happened, Grub whirled around, drawing his sword, and charged toward Justyn with an inarticulate growl. With a casual backhand gesture, Justyn sent a crackling green thunderbolt crashing into the troll's chest. There was another burst of light and the Grub dropped lifelessly to the floor.

Filled with rage and dismay, Meredith leapt onto the prince's back, shrieking in his ear and pummeling him with her fists. With a violent motion, he threw her off of him. She fell, sprawling, a short ways from the entombed Darkmoor. She lay there, winded and gasping as Justyn's haughty voice came from behind her. "Now, now...that is no way for my future empress to behave. I expect and demand absolute loyalty, you know. I can see that you have much to learn, but we will have plenty of time...."

"Let Darkmoor go!" she shouted angrily, "He's your own brother!" She swept the hair out or her eyes, struggling to her feet.

Justyn stood facing her with his hands on his hips. "I'm afraid I can't do that: as you can see, he is intent upon destroying my Portal, and I can not allow that to happen. You see, the Portal is the receptacle of most of my life force and power, just as that staff is for Dante."

"But you said Dante destroyed your Portal."

Justyn chuckled. "Yes, I did, didn't I? Naughty me. Actually, all he did was cast it as far from Fraeland as he could: to the farthest reaches of the Frozen Wastes. But that was his greatest miscalculation, for I soon discovered something that he never dreamed of: a way to bend time and space and make this flat world round, like yours. The Frozen Wastes were no longer far from Fraeland—they bordered it!" He gave another mad cackle at his own cleverness.

"And that's not the best part: the best part is that this is Fraeland!" he made a sweeping gesture with his hands, looking up at the ceiling. "And none of you even realized it. While Dante was gone, the Frozen Wastes gobbled up his precious Fraeland metre by metre. Now all that's left of it is a narrow strip along the edge of the Borderlands, and soon even that will be mine! And after that...," his ranting was cut short by Molly's snarl from behind, as she launched herself towards him as best she could with her injured shoulder and the slippery footing underneath her.

Justyn spun around and pointed his wand at her. A narrow pencil of green energy lanced out and struck her. An instant later a black and white rat stood where the border collie had before.

Justyn chuckled at his own cleverness.

"Molly!" Brian cried in dismay, charging forward himself with the pack slung over his shoulder.

"Brian, no!" shouted Meredith.

Justyn laughed again as he sidestepped the boy and kicked his legs out from under him. Brian crashed down heavily onto the floor.

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Justyn said, "Is this the best that Dante could send against me? My pathetic, has-been brother, a decrepit troll and two children? I am insulted!" He walked over to where Brian lay fumbling for something in the pack and put one booted foot on his neck to hold him still. The smile had vanished from his face and been replaced by a predatory sneer. He leaned over closer to Brian so that he could look him squarely in the eyes. "I shall have great pleasure killing you, brat. I'll have time to be more creative than I was with the others...."

Brian glared up at him defiantly. "Yeah? Well, eat bug spray, blondie!" With that he pulled the can of insect repellent out of the pack and blasted a cloud of it straight into Justyn's eyes.

The prince staggered back, screaming.

Knowing she had only an instant to act, Meredith pivoted around and threw herself onto the floor where Smiter lay. She grabbed the base of the staff in both hands, encouraged by the familiar vibration in the wood, and slapped it into Darkmoor's limply hanging hand. She sent out a blast of sheer willpower which pulsed up the staff in the form of a blue bubble of energy. Darkmoor's hand and arm were instantly awash in blue light.

The fingers of the hand twitched.

A moment later, the hand clenched the shaft of the staff and Meredith felt a surge of power beneath her fingers. Darkmoor's voice sounded in her head, "Destroy the Portal."

Shutting out all the rest of her surroundings, Meredith focused her attention on the slowly revolving vortex before her. She poured every atom of her anger, unhappiness, and hatred for Justyn into the staff, which throbbed and hummed in her hands. She could feel Darkmoor's own shadowy power swelling like a wave cresting towards the shore. Suddenly a blue lightning bolt arced out of the staff and into the centre of the vortex. She was dimly aware of Justyn screaming in protest as well as pain, but he was like a voice in a dream and she ignored him. The vortex gradually slowed to a stop, then began to swirl in the opposite direction—faster, faster. It pulsated with rival energies, sending out bright flashes of static discharge as it spun faster still. A steadily increasing wind began to blow past Meredith as the reversed vortex sucked hungrily at everything in the room.

Brian's arm suddenly looped itself around Meredith's waist: his experience with the Storm Crows had taught him the importance of a secure grip. Meredith took one hand off of the staff and, crouching down, reached out and caught hold of Grub's ankle. Even though he was dead, she would not allow him to suffer the indignity of being sucked into whatever hellish world the vortex now emptied into.

Around and around the vortex spun: the wind rushing into it from the room screamed like a living thing. Meredith slowly turned her head towards the other screaming that had begun earlier. She saw Justyn, or the creature that had once been Justyn, sliding across the slippery floor, its nails scraping and breaking as it struggled to resist. The illusion of comeliness was gone: instead, his true nature was revealed. He was a hideous, withered-looking skeleton-creature with leprous skin and running sores. The golden hair was actually coarse patches of white bristles springing from a mottled scalp. It stared at her with fear-maddened, pleading eyes and extended a bony hand toward her in a gesture of supplication.

There was a frozen moment that would haunt Meredith's darkest nightmares for the rest of her life, and then the creature finally lost its tenuous hold. It flew up into the air and was sucked directly down the maw of the vortex with a wail of dismay that rapidly diminished with distance. There followed a thunderclap that shook the Ice Fortress to its foundations and then the Portal snapped shut. At the same instant the block of ice imprisoning Darkmoor exploded in a shower of fragments and Molly the rat, which Brian had been protecting in his left hand, became Molly the border collie again, nearly knocking him over.

Nothing disturbed the silence that followed until Meredith heard the faint, but unmistakable dripping of water. The floor under their feet shuddered slightly.

Sucking in a great lungful of air, Darkmoor shook his head to clear it. When he had recovered a little, he shouted, "We've got to get out of here! The whole place is about to come down around our heads!"

Meredith shouted back, "Okay! You carry Grub! I'll bring the staff!" She turned to Brian. "Let's go!"

Before they reached the door, the dripping had turned into a downpour. All around them the ice was splitting and melting at a greatly accelerated pace. By the time they started down the stairs, huge chunks of ice were falling from the walls and ceiling above. They struggled onward through this nightmare, finally reaching the throne room and dashing out of the front gates. Even as they did, a huge portion of the tower toppled to the ground nearby. The force of the impact knocked them off their feet. All around them the ice was rapidly turned to slush, and then to water. Huge fissures sprang open without warning, threatening to engulf the group.

Since movement was nearly impossible, and seemed to expose them to even more dangers, they simply huddled together as the world around them unmade itself.

And then it was over.

A warm spring breeze full of the scents of new life caressed their faces. The rising sun shed its golden radiance upon the reborn land chasing away all memory of the chill from the grateful soil. Everywhere bodies of water—from small puddles to newly-formed lakes—glistened in the sunlight and reflected the images of billowy clouds in a perfect sky. Fraeland had returned.

Darkmoor had located a high spot to lay Grub's body down and now crouched beside it, cradling the troll's head. Meredith was surprised to see tears rolling down Darkmoor's cheeks. Molly crept over to Grub's side; her ears down, and pawed tentatively at his arm. Brian came forward and gave Molly a hug, his thoughts returning to the loss of his friend, Krul.

Meredith too, felt the pain of loss: although she and Grub had gotten off to a rocky start, they had come through many trials together over the past few days and it seemed as if she had known the kindly troll for years. She walked over to Darkmoor and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Can't you bring him back?" she asked, softly.

Darkmoor shook his head sadly. "I dare not risk it—there is still the matter of retrieving Dante and getting you and your brother home again. Destroying the Portal put a heavy drain on the staff and my own powers. See for yourself...." he indicated Smiter where it lay on the damp ground.

Meredith bent down and laid a hand on the staff: the vibration was barely detectable.

"Besides," continued Darkmoor, "Bringing a person back is much more difficult than bringing back a dog. Not only is it questionable, ethically, but when it has been attempted in the past, the results were not always the ones desired: sometimes what came back was a very different—and much less pleasant—person than before." He lay Grub's head down on a folded-up blanket from the pack. "No, I'm afraid we must say goodbye to our dear friend. He died in a noble cause and that, I think, is all he would have asked for. I will bury him here in his beloved Fraeland and erect a monument in his honour, that his name and many deeds shall live on."

He placed his hands on his knees and stood up with a sigh. He stood there in silence, surveying the land around them. Where the Ice Fortress had stood, there was now a shallow lake littered with debris: furniture, statues, and wooden doors protruded from the water in disarray. Darkmoor said, "Now, we must find a suitable mirror to act as a portal to bring Dante home. Come with me."

The three of them sloshed their way back and began to rummage through the flotsam. Quickly becoming hot from the exertion and the morning sun, they began to cast off all of their extra fur and leather clothing. Before long they were down to their original summer clothes.

"I remember seeing a full-length mirror in our room," said Brian.

"Yeah, but where was our room?" asked Meredith, doubtfully.

"Wait! I think I have something!" shouted Darkmoor as he opened the doors of a half-submerged wardrobe. Each door had a large mirror attached to the inside. Darkmoor smiled with satisfaction. "He'll have to stoop a bit, but this will do nicely."

He wrestled the wardrobe into an upright position and swung one of the doors open to reveal its mirror. He gave them all a warning glance. "Fortunately, I have Smiter, which provides me with a kind of psychic link to its owner. When I open this portal it should be in Dante's immediate area. I only hope that he is near a sufficiently large enough surface to step through. I will need completely undisturbed quiet in order to concentrate: please...no talking or moving about."

Meredith and Brian nodded obediently and stood quietly to one side. Darkmoor stepped closer to the mirror and stared intently into its depths. Although she was at an oblique angle to the mirror, Meredith could see the reflection there slowly dissolve into an entirely different image: that of an old man standing in an austere room with hospital green walls. Dante. A look of recognition and a smile spread across his previously expressionless face. Darkmoor extended his hand into the mirror....

Dr. Katherine Kenson had arrived at the hospital early to check on the strange old man who had come into her care. She was seriously worried about him, and not overly optimistic about his chances for recovery. She wondered what could possibly have happened to him to bring about this dysfunctional mental state.

She was standing in the observation room, jotting notes down on her clipboard for the report she would write later, when something happened that made her question her own sanity. The old man was standing, as usual, staring into the two-way mirror. Suddenly, he began to smile. Without warning, a disembodied hand extended towards him from the surface of the mirror. Without hesitation, the old man gripped the hand with both of his and was immediately drawn upwards, and into, the mirror. Dr. Kenson watched in shock as his foot slid slowly out of existence and he was gone.

Both Brian and Meredith cheered when Dante stepped out of the mirror. Molly leapt about barking, not really sure of what was going on, but sensing the excitement. Darkmoor embraced his old mentor, pounding his back with as much force as he dared. Dante stepped back, holding Darkmoor at arms-length and looking him up and down as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Finally, he spoke, his voice thick with emotion, "Thank heaven you're still alive! When Brian here helped me awaken memories that had slept for more than ten years, I feared that I had lost you forever. But look at you...you've grown into a fine young man...at least I think there's one under all that dirt and hair!"

They all laughed at that. Then Dante held out his arms to Meredith and Brian. They both leapt forward to hug and be hugged. The old man kissed Meredith's forehead and he tousled Brian's hair playfully. "You can't imagine how good it is to see the both of you again," he said.

Releasing them, he slowly turned to scan the landscape all around them. His eyes came to rest on Meredith. "I owe you a debt I can never repay, young lady. Somehow you did what I scarcely dared hope you would: found your brother, Darkmoor, and destroyed the Portal and Justyn...at least I assume that is what has happened."

Meredith gave him a reassuring smile, saying, "It wasn't just me: I couldn't have done it without Grub, Brian and Darkmoor...oh, and Molly, too, of course!"

"Of course!" agreed Dante, giving Molly an affectionate rub between the ears. Then he looked up as something suddenly occurred to him. "But...where is Grub?"

The uncomfortable exchange of glances that followed was answer enough. "Dead?" he asked. It was more of a statement than a question.

"I'm afraid so, Dante," said Darkmoor solemnly. "Justyn struck him down for trying to defend me as I attacked the Portal."

"Ahhh, I see." Dante fell silent, staring at the ground.

Darkmoor's expression was pained. "Dante, I could have tried to bring him back, but the staff's power is very low...."

"Indeed." He sighed heavily, "I suddenly feel very, very old."

"I thought it was more important to conserve what was left to get you back and send the children home."

Dante smiled sadly and placed a hand on his protégé's shoulder. "You did the right thing, Darkmoor...as always. He will be sorely missed, and that, I suppose, is a fitting enough testament for anyone." He paused for a moment, then continued, "But you are very mistaken about these two," he indicated Meredith and Brian. "These are not children...at least, not any more. I suspect they have done a great deal of growing up over the last few days...I know I can detect changes, both subtle and profound."

Darkmoor grinned. "Aye, you know, I think you are right about that...though you've known them longer than have I."

Dante clapped his hands together. "Well, although I would love to have you linger here in Fraeland as my guests, it would be grossly unkind to your mother, and I have already caused the poor woman enough distress. We must get you back where you belong at once. Fortunately, we have a perfectly functional portal standing here waiting to do our bidding. Darkmoor, if you would be so kind as to pass me my staff...."

Darkmoor handed Smiter over, along with the dragon pendant, but Dante's look of delight at being reunited with the staff quickly turned to one of consternation. "The energy level certainly is low...you will have to assist me, my friend."

"With pleasure."

They made their farewells and Dante thanked them each again. He took Brian's hand and pressed the pendant into his palm. "When I gave this to you I intended for you to keep it. I do so again. May it always remind you that you are capable of wonders." Then he turned to Meredith. "I left a small memento for you with your mother...see that she remembers to give it to you."

"I will," she replied, her eyes welling.

Finally, Dante bent stiffly down beside Molly, stroking the side of her head as she licked his hand. "For you, most loyal and unquestioning of all, there is nothing I have to give except my thanks...and this." With that he passed his hand slowly over her wounded shoulder. His fingers left behind a faint blue glow that gradually faded. No trace of her wound remained. "There is one more favor I would ask of you, brave heart: if you should come upon my friend, Roc, in your wanderings please give him my best regards and tell him that I may return for him one day. I have given you the ability to do that for me...use it wisely."

As they gathered in front of the mirror Darkmoor gave them an earnest look and said, "Thank you for returning to me my life and my kingdom...I, too, owe you a debt I can never repay. I will promise you this much: the two of you will long be remembered in the songs the bards will sing of your deeds here. Fare well."

With that he and Dante joined hands and began to concentrate. Once again the mirror ceased reflecting and opened up a vision of another world. Meredith could see green vegetation and clouds in a blue sky, but the perspective was looking up and the view was strangely distorted. Dante explained, "Like I did, long ago, you will have to fall 'up' into your own world, through a body of water."

Meredith groaned. "Not again!"

"I'm afraid so...can't be helped," said Dante apologetically.

"Oh, all right," huffed Meredith.

"Oh!" cried Dante, "I almost forgot...there is one more thing I need to tell you." He leaned close to Meredith's ear, and whispered something to her. When he was done, he stepped back, asking, "Will you remember that?"

She nodded her head slowly. "I...I guess so. I don't really understand it, though."

"You don't need to. Just remember to say it when they ask you to prove that all this really did happen to you. All right?"

"Yes."

"Good."

It was time to go.

"Bye!" shouted Brian as he jumped through the portal. Molly followed with a sharp bark.

Meredith cast one last glance back over her shoulder at Dante and Darkmoor, gave a little wave of her hand, and then stepped forward....

...And burst through the surface of Lake Hoggan on Gabriola Island. She spat water out of her mouth and instinctively began to tread water, but her feet collided with the mucky bottom. Scrubbing wet hair from her eyes and blinking, she saw that the shoreline was only a few metres away. Brian and Molly were already stepping out onto it. Meredith followed.

On the road, slightly uphill from them, a white Ford Explorer suddenly slammed on its brakes with a loud skidding noise. Its backup lights came on and it spun gravel as it roared backwards along the shoulder of the road until it drew even with them. It was an RCMP vehicle. A heavy-set man with dark hair and a moustache got out of the truck and started yelling at them.

Great, thought Meredith as she tried to wring some of the smelly water out of her sweater and t-shirt, now we're probably in trouble for trespassing. Molly gave herself a violent shake sending a spray of water droplets in every direction.

"Molly!" protested Brian, good-naturedly.

Now the police officer was running towards them, holding onto his hat to keep it from blowing off. When he got closer he called out, "Excuse me, are you Meredith and Brian Carswell, by any chance?"

Meredith was surprised at first that he knew their names, but then she realized that, of course, her mother would have had the police out looking for them soon after they disappeared. "Yes, that's right," she said.

The relieved expression on the officer's face was quickly replaced with a stern one. "What are you doing here? Where have you been for the past few days? Your mother is worried to death about you." He looked at Brian's scrapes and bruises and his sweatshirt with the missing sleeves, and then at Meredith, who was similarly worse-for-wear. "Did Mr. Danton do this to you?"

Brian and Meredith looked at each other and laughed. "Well, yes, in a way, he did," Meredith giggled.

Puzzled by their behaviour, Corporal Sidhu remained very serious. "Never mind: he will be punished for what he has done."

Meredith laughed again. "That may be more difficult than you think..," she said, cryptically.

Frowning, the corporal replied, "I am Corporal Sidhu of the Gabriola detachment of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I have a blanket in the truck...come and wrap up before you get chilled. I will take you to your mother."

"As long as it's not a space blanket!" quipped Brian and they both erupted into gales of laughter.

Sidhu had seen post-traumatic stress disorder before, but never symptoms like these. He suspected it would be a long time before these kids returned to normal again...if ever.

On the way to their uncle and aunt's place, the Corporal's radio squawked an urgent message for him: something from a Dr. Kenton, or Kenson, about a man who had disappeared into a mirror. Brian and Meredith exchanged knowing glances in the back seat while Sidhu's consternation grew.

When they arrived, everyone was standing in the driveway waiting for them: the corporal had radioed ahead for them to be notified by phone. Marilyn was almost hysterical with joy to see her children returned to her relatively whole. There were hugs all around—including Molly—and too many questions to even begin to answer. Then they were hustled inside for a shower and clean clothes.

Hot water had never felt so good to Meredith.

When they had been suitably cleaned, clothed and fed, everyone gathered in the living-room for explanations. Meredith and Brian had considered concocting some kind of plausible story to tell if they ever got home, but Meredith had ultimately decided that only the truth would do. She was worried that they might think she was crazy, but that was a chance she had decided to take.

It took the better part of an hour to recount all of the adventures they had been through, with each one telling their own story up until the point where they had been reunited. Meredith took over the narrative there, but Brian periodically interjected his own comments nonetheless. Where these interruptions would have infuriated Meredith in the past, now she bore them with good humour.

At the end of the telling, the adults simply sat, dumbfounded and unable to speak. Uncle Kyle had been prepared to dismiss it all as nonsense until Brian showed him the dragon pendant and Corporal Sidhu—who had asked to stay to hear the story—confirmed the unexplained disappearance of Old Danton from the psychiatric ward.

While they were all still digesting this news, Meredith spoke up, "Mom, Dante said that he gave you something for me...can I have it now?"

Marilyn looked confused. "What? Oh...yes, he did. I have it right here." She got up from her chair and crossed over to the mantel above the fireplace. There she picked up the music box and brought it back to Meredith. "Here you are. It's really quite lovely, isn't it?"

Meredith traced the fine wood inlay with the tip of her finger then slowly raised the lid of the box. Sweet, familiar music filled the room. Inside, just as before, lay the small, velvet-swathed hand-mirror and also a note. Meredith's hands trembled slightly as she picked up the note and read it.

"Dear Meredith:

If you are reading this, then you were successful on your quest and have returned safely. You cannot begin to conceive of the service you have rendered to Darkmoor, myself, and all of Fraeland. For that we are eternally in your debt. Please accept this small memento as a token of my appreciation and a constant reminder of the person you really are. You are equipped to meet any challenge that you may find in your path. Be slow to judge and quick to forgive. Perhaps, one day, if you keep some tiny part of the child in you alive, you may see me again in this mirror, or another.

In fondness,

Dante

Meredith, closing the music box, sat up suddenly as she remembered something important. "Oh, I nearly forgot: Corporal Sidhu, Dante told me to tell you something."

Sidhu leaned forward curiously, "Yes?"

Meredith hesitated for a moment, and then said, "He told me that, if you wouldn't believe our story, I was supposed to remind you of something you said to him once.

"Really?" His tone betrayed his disbelief. "And what was that?"

Meredith spoke clearly and confidently, "'When you have eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'"

###

About the Author

Mark Hawkes lives on the beautiful West Coast of Canada with his partner Linette and their border collies. Mark wrote his first novel, a fantasy about the lost continent of Atlantis, when he was thirteen. Since then he has continued to write in a variety of genres and formats.

You might also enjoy Mark's adult historical novel, Island Dragon.

