Greenmantle

  She remembered the chapter where Otter’s son Portly was lost and all the animals went out looking for him. Rat and Mole in their rowboat… They found him, but they found something else as well. The mystery watching over the little otter. Grahame called him the Piper at the Gates of Dawn. Ali never thought of Pink Floyd when she heard that phrase—just of Grahame’s book, of Rat and Mole’s awe, and of the chill that ran up her spine whenever she thought of those few pages, or read them again.

  That’s who you are to me, she told the mystery. I just wish I knew your name.

  She could see him if she closed her eyes. Not as a stag or a Green Man like Lewis did, nor as he’d appeared in the otherworld, but as the goatman he’d been for a moment last night. The long curling horns and the pinched features that reminded her a little of Mally. His reed pipes were like Tommy’s, but different, too. Because his music was different. What Tommy played made her want to move; it made her emotions dance until she just had to step her body to its rhythm. But the other music, his music—it would fill her with peace. She’d never heard it, but she knew what it would be like. She knew just what it would be like.

  She tried not to hear Tommy’s music, searched instead for the melody that she knew the mystery would play if he had the pipes instead of Tommy. Closing her eyes, she drew up the image of him in her mind. It flickered just at the limits of her grasp. His music was almost there, but then Tommy’s piping stole it away and her memories went back to last night again. The goatman was a stag when it came to the old stone. There was dancing. She was moving to the music with Lily. Then Mally caught her up and tossed her onto the stag’s back and they were off and away—away into some elsewhere.

  She went with the memory, followed it on that wild ride through a forest that didn’t exist in this world, to the summit of that otherworldly mountain with its circular stone formations. The moon hung low and full, the stars were so bright. Her breath frosted in the air. The mystery was a stag, then a man in his mantle of green leaves, and she was standing in front of him, asking him what he wanted, asking him for a name. Again she was caught by his gaze—as powerful in memory as it had been last night. Something in their gazes connected and went on and on and on.

  There’s no name for something like you, she thought. No one can name you. All they can do is take an aspect that they can see and call you by that. Pan. Old Hornie. A Green man. Greenmantle.

  Greenmantle.

  That’s what I’d call you, if I only knew you from last night. But I’ve known you all my life, haven’t I? You’re what makes the seasons change, the blood to flow. You taught me how to breathe when I left my mother’s womb. You taught my body to grow and my heart to recognize you when I finally saw you. In the pages of a book. In the melody of a tune. In the spread of a branch against the sky. In the hop of a robin, the eyes of a cat, the scent of a blossom….

  She watched herself turn away from him in the memory—because Mally was calling her. They had to leave that place in elsewhere. It was time to go before…before what? Then she heard the sound of their baying, and the warm feeling that the memory had left in her chilled in her veins. The Hunt. The pack. They had to hurry because if the hounds caught their scent in that place, they’d chase her and Mally, just like they chased the stag. In her memory, she saw that they’d gotten away from the pack. But then she remembered later that night, the hounds at the edge of the forest, watching her as she stood by the window….

  Her eyes opened with a snap. The fire blinded her for a moment, and she blinked, looking away from it.

  “Mally?” she started to say, but the wild girl was gone.

  She stood up, shivering for all the heat that the fire threw off. Something was wrong. She couldn’t hear the piping anymore. How long had she been away in her memories? It couldn’t have been too long because the fire was still burning high. But where was Mally? Why did she feel so strange?

  The sound of the pack came to her again, but very close now. She stooped and picked up Tony’s walking stick, holding it with nervous fingers. Something was very wrong. She turned slowly, staring at the darkened forest, her night vision poor from looking into the fire. But when it cleared, she saw them stepping from the undergrowth. They weren’t hounds now; they were men in hooded cloaks. The foremost held a crucifix between himself and her.

  “M-mally…?” Ali mumbled.

  The fire was behind her, the pack fanned out in front of her. There was nowhere to go. The mystery hadn’t come and Mally had deserted her. I didn’t call you, she wanted to tell the hooded men, but the words choked in her throat. I wanted the mystery.

  “Don’t be afraid,” the foremost man said. “We have come to save your soul.”

  Behind him, two of the other men shook ropes out of the folds of their cloaks and advanced on her. Ali held the pointed tip of the walking stick out toward them, but her hands shook so much that the stick fell from them and clattered on the stone. Her knees went wobbly and she sank slowly to the ground, staring at the hooded men with wide frightened eyes.

  “P-please,” she said. “I don’t…I don’t need to be saved.”

  The man with the crucifix shook his head slowly. “You will thank us when we are done,” he said.

  The men with the ropes leapt forward and caught her by each arm, then dragged her toward the old pine tree. Ali was so scared she couldn’t even struggle. She just went limp in their arms. Please, she cried soundlessly. Mystery. I was just trying to help you. Help me.

  There was no answer to her soundless call. The woods remained silent as the men bound her to the tree.

  “There is a demon in you,” the man with the crucifix said. “Through the power of God we will cast it from you.”

  The rope hurt her wrists and ankles as they tied her spread-eagle to the tree. Her strength came back to her in a panicking surge, but it was too late now. She strained against the ropes, but that only made them burn her skin as she struggled to free herself. Her blood hammered in her temples. The crucifix was thrust up near her face and the hooded man stared at her, but because the fire was behind him, all she could see was darkness inside his hood, as though he didn’t have a face. Behind him, the other men went down on their knees in a half-circle.

  “Oh, Lord, we beseech you,” the man with the crucifix intoned. “Aid us to rid the world of this evil.”

  Not real, Ali told herself. This wasn’t real. But the ropes were real. The bark of the tree was rough against her back. It was real.

  “Who are you?” she cried, her voice shrill with panic.

  “Your saviors, child. Fear the demon inside you, not us.”

  He touched the crucifix against her forehead and a red-hot fire went through her mind. Ali cried out again, but this time all that escaped her throat was a long wordless wail.

  “Trust in the Lord,” the hooded man said, but Ali was too far gone to hear him.

  6

  In the flicker of the bone-fire, Mally watched her companion, waiting for the telltale glimmer of the inner fire she hoped would wake in the teenager. The bone-fire continued to burn higher. Combined with Tommy’s piping, it opened doors in Ali that even Ali couldn’t be aware of. Mally nodded in satisfaction.

  You’ll heed this calling, won’t you, Old Hornie? she thought. Listen to its pulse—see its brightness. How can you resist?

  Mally could hardly contain her excitement. A moment like this was all too rare. The mysteries tended to roam a smaller and smaller area as they grew older, dwindling in stature, in magic, until sometimes they simply faded away. But tonight Old Hornie would be sent out into the world again like a gust of fresh air. He’d blow through the hearts of men and make them sit up and see again, even if only for a moment.

  Mortals were such that just the smallest taste of that sight would send them questing the rest of their days to recapture it. And while that questing would remain unconscious in most, while it would be only a tiny part of their overall being, it would be enough to return a spark of old glory to hea
rts that were dimmed. It wasn’t the magic of the mystery that was important, nor the finding of it, but the quest itself.

  It might save a forest, it might save one tree. One man might be kinder to another, when he might otherwise have passed the need by. It was beauty that needed preserving, whether it lay in a forest, a field, or a city street. Whether it was the workings of a plant, from seed to new growth to mulch, or the workings of some complex machine. There was room for everything in the world, so long as men remembered the beauty. And once seen, as they would tonight when they brushed Old Hornie’s thoughts as he chased the world itself in his freedom, they might not remember, but they would never forget. Some part of them would always recall what they’d only seen howsoever briefly tonight.

  So call him, Mally thought, looking at Ali. Let him know the wider world again. Let him run free so that he doesn’t just reflect what lies in a few minds, but encompasses the wonder of the world at large. A reflection that will be neither good nor ill, for it simply is.

  She hugged her knees and rocked back and forth, delighted with what she was accomplishing. I needed someone like you, Ali, she thought. Oh, for such a long time. The winds of the otherworld blew through your soul long before Old Hornie took us there. Can you hear them now? Can you feel them on your face?

  Ali’s eyes were closed. Mally leaned closer to peer into the teenager’s face. What do you see right now? she wondered. She felt a great affection for Ali and started to reach forward to brush her short blond curls with a brown hand when a sudden draft of cold air flickered across the summit of Wold Hill. Mally blinked, and between the closing and opening of her eyes, Ali disappeared.

  Mally leapt to her feet, looking all around the summit. “Ali?” she cried. “Ali! Aliiiiii!”

  Gone. Disappeared like a forgotten thought. Mally paced nervously around the fire, her nostrils flaring as she tried to pick up Ali’s scent. Old Hornie hadn’t taken her, because Mally would have sensed his coming, would have known he was here long before Ali. But if Old Hornie hadn’t taken her into that elsewhere…

  Mally raced through the forest, making for the old stone. She ran at a breakneck pace, bounding from stone to fallen tree, dodging low-hanging boughs and deadfalls. When she burst into the glade by the old stone, just Lewis, Tommy and the dog Gaffa were there. No Old Hornie. No Ali, either, though Mally hadn’t been expecting her here. Tommy broke off his playing at Mally’s sudden entrance.

  “Did he come?” she demanded, turning her attention to Lewis rather than Tommy. “Was he here?”

  “Slow down,” Lewis said. “What are you talking about?”

  “The mystery! Was he here?”

  Lewis shook his head. “No. We’ve only just come ourselves. And anyway, it’s not a gather—”

  Mally turned away from him and glared at Tommy. By the piper’s knee, Gaffa growled. “Play those pipes!” she cried. “Call him here! Now, now, now!”

  Tommy looked at her dumbly, whatever spirit possessing him when he played, long gone now.

  “What’s the matter, Mally?” Lewis asked. “And where’s Ali?”

  “Gone!” she cried. “Stolen like smoke. Taken to…” And then she knew. “Did you hear them tonight, Lewis?” she asked. “The hounds? Did you hear them?”

  “I thought I did—just a few moments before you arrived. But the sound of them was very faint.”

  “Oh, they’ve got her, then. They’ve got her!” The wild girl’s eyes flashed with anger, as much at herself for not realizing this risk, as at the pack itself. “I should have waited for Midsummer’s night. I shouldn’t have been in such a hurry.”

  She looked suddenly at Lewis. “And see where it’s gotten me? I’ll be lucky to get her back now, let alone set Old Hornie free.”

  “Set him—”

  “I’ll need the fire in the lame man to call him to me now. No time to set him free. All I can do is hope that he can take me to wherever the pack has her before it’s too late.”

  “Too late for…?”

  She was off before Lewis could finish his sentence. He watched her bound into the woods, taking the trail that led to Tony Valenti’s house. Lewis shook his head, then he looked up toward the summit of Wold Hill. He could see a glow there in the sky above the trees. What had they been up to? He glanced at Tommy, who sat with his pipes on his lap, staring off into nothing, then over to where the trees had swallowed Mally.

  A cold chill went through him as he looked back up at the hill. The feeling he’d had earlier came back stronger than ever. There was something in the air tonight, only he was no longer a part of it. But when he thought of that young girl that both the stag and Mally had taken such an interest in, when he thought of her in some danger…

  Mally had mentioned the hounds. Lewis didn’t know why they would be after Ali, but he knew he had to do something. What he could do, he didn’t know. But he had to at least try. There’d be time enough later to find out what Mally had meant when she talked about setting the Green Man free. Didn’t Mally know that men today had more dark than light in their hearts—that the mystery would reflect that darkness back into the world because of what men had become?

  Giving Tommy and the old stone a last look, Lewis started up the hill, his aging heart filled with misgivings.

  7

  A half hour before nightfall, Valenti stood up from the kitchen table. He took out his .38, checked its load, then replaced it in its shoulder holster. Next he checked the UZI and the pouch of spare rounds. He put a windbreaker on, then slung the UZI from his shoulder by its strap. He reached down for a small pack by the door and slung it over his other shoulder. It had a couple of thermoses of coffee and some sandwiches in it.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  Frankie nodded. The automatic, snug in the holster that hung from her belt, was an unfamiliar, but somewhat comforting weight. Glancing at the table, she thought, we really should clean up the dinner dishes, then realized how ridiculous the thought was.

  “Do you really think they’ll come tonight?” she asked.

  “Something’s going down tonight—all my instincts tell me that. Better grab your jacket. It’s going to be cooler now that the sun’s down.”

  Frankie shrugged into her jacket. Now that they were actually going out into the night to wait for the attack, she had to ask herself again why she was doing this. It wasn’t the kind of thing that fit into her life. What was happening belonged on some cops ’n’ robbers show, not real life. Practicing with the gun this afternoon, listening to Tony’s strategies, hadn’t prepared her for the reality that she had to face now. If Earl came, if Tony’s enemies came, could she do anything?

  Valenti could see what she was going through. “Look,” he said. “You can still bow out of this. You don’t have to be a part of it. I’ll tell you right now that it’s going to change you. If you come out of this tonight, you’re never going to be the same after.”

  “I’m not sure I feel the same right now—I’m already not the same person I was a couple of days ago.”

  “You could go to the village, or you could take the car and get yourself to someplace safe.”

  Frankie shook her head. “Ali’s still out there. I won’t desert her. And I won’t desert you. I’m responsible for part of what’s happening tonight. If Earl comes, it’s because of me. And those other men—they wouldn’t even know you were here if it wasn’t for me.”

  “They had to find me sooner or later, you know what I’m saying? I knew that.”

  “I’m not running again,” Frankie said. “This is all crazy—the guns and everything—but I’m not running.”

  Valenti regarded her for a moment, then nodded. “You’re going to do just fine,” he said.

  Frankie wasn’t sure how she should take that. He meant it as a compliment, but she didn’t see anything fine about carrying a gun, about maybe having to use it.

  “C’mon,” Valenti said. He picked up Mario’s crossbow and started out the door, favoring his leg. He
hoped it wasn’t going to slow him down. Louie already had an edge with the extra manpower he could command.

  Frankie gave the inside of the house a final look. In the warm interior lighting, the big room had a cozy look. Nothing about it suggested the violence that the night was going to bring.

  “Coraggio,” Valenti said. “That’s what Mario’d say if he was here. Have courage.”

  “Coraggio,” she said. “Like in ‘don’t let the bastards get you down’?”

  “You got it.”

  “So let’s do it,” Frankie said. She followed him out into the night, scared but determined not to show it.

  * * *

  “So here’s the plan one more time,” Louie said—needlessly, as far as Earl was concerned. Christ, these wops liked to hear themselves talk. “You and Fingers each take a side of the road and follow it up till you’re flanking the house—one on each side. You got to get a position where you can watch both the back and sides at the same time, capito? Then, when I let go with this sucker—” he patted the rocket launcher that Earl had managed to pick up from the Dragons “—and blow out the front of that fucking place, you can just pick off anybody who tries to make a run for it. And aim low, okay? I want a chance to look Tony in the face before I finish him—that’s if I don’t blow him to fuck with the first shot.”

  Earl shook his head. “We’re gonna have to be in and out fast,” he said. “The noise that thing’s gonna make, the place’ll be crawling with cops before we know it, even out here in the sticks.”

  This was a case where Fingers agreed with Earl, but he didn’t say anything. Louie wanted to use a rocket launcher, then that’s what they would do.

  “You let me worry about the cops,” Louie said. “Now get going. I’ll give you ten minutes to get into position, then I’m hitting the front.”