The Bone Forest (26 page)

The man didn't move. She stood and stared defiantly at him, then struck his tambourine again.

"Why don't you
dance
?" she shrieked at him. When he ignored her, she shouted again. "Why don't you make
music
? Make
music
! Dance in the square! Dance!" Her voice was a shrill cry.

There was no twilight. Late afternoon became dark night in a few minutes and a torch was put to the fire, which flared dramatically and silenced all activity. Glowing embers streamed into a starless sky and the village square became choking with the sweet smell of burning wood. The last smells of the roasted ox were banished and in the grounds of the Red Lion the skeleton of the beast was hacked apart. A few pence each for the bones with their meaty fragments. In front of the Bush and Briar Mr. Ellis swept up a hundredweight of broken glass. Mick Ferguson led a gang of children, chasing an empty barrel down the street, toward the south gate where the fires still smoldered.

For a while the dancing had ceased. People thronged about the fire. Voices were raised in the public houses as dancers and tourists alike struggled to get in fresh orders for ale. A sort of controlled chaos ruled the day, and in the center of it: the fire, its light picking out stark details on the gray church and the muddy green in the square. Beyond the sheer rise of the church tower, all was darkness, although men in white shirts and black hats walked through the lych-gate and rounded the church, talking quietly, dispersing as they reemerged into the square. Here, they again picked up sticks, or tambourines, or other instruments of music and mock war.

Ginny wandered among them.

She could not find her mother.

And she knew that something was wrong, very wrong indeed.

It came as scant reassurance when a bearded youth called to the Morrismen again, and twelve sturdy men, all of them strangers to Scarrowfell, jangled their way from the Bush and Briar to the dancing square. There was laughter, tomfoolery with the cudgels they carried, and the whining practice notes of the accordion. Then they filed into a formation, jiggled and rang their legs, laughed once more and began to hop to the rhythm of a dance called the
Cuckoo's Nest
. A man in a baggy, flowery dress and with a big frilly bonnet on his head sang the rude words. The singer was a source of great amusement since he sported a bushy, ginger beard. He wore an apron over the frock and every so often lifted the pinny to expose a long red balloon strapped between his legs. It had eyes and eyelashes painted on its tip. The audience roared each time he did this.

As Ginny moved through the fair toward the new focus of activity, Mick Ferguson approached her, grinned, and went into his Hunchback of Notre Dame routine, stooping forward, limping in an exaggerated fashion and crying, "The bells. The bells. The jingling bells…"

"Mick…" Ginny began, but he had already flashed her a nervous grin and bolted off into the confusing movement of the crowds, running toward the fire and finally disappearing into the gloom beyond.

Ginny watched him go. Mick, she thought… Mick… why?

What was going on?

She walked toward the dancers and the bearded singer and Kevin turned around nervously and nodded to her. The man sang:

"Some like a girl who is pretty in the face

And some like a girl who is slender in the waist..."

"I missed the procession," Ginny said. "I wasn't woken up."

Kevin stared at her, looking unhappy. He said, "My mother told me not to talk to you…"

She waited, but Kevin had decided that discretion was the better part of cowardice.

"Why not?" she asked, disturbed by the statement.

"You're being denied," the boy murmured.

Ginny was shocked. "Why am I being denied? Why me?"

Kevin shrugged. Then a strange look came into his eyes, a horrible look, a man's look, arrogant, sneering.

The man in the hideous dress sang:

"But give me a girl who will wriggle and will twist

Each time I slap my hand upon her cuckoo's nest…"

Kevin backed away from Ginny, making "cuckoo" sounds.

"It's a
rude
song," Ginny said.

Kevin taunted, "
You're
a cuckoo.
You're
a cuckoo…"

"I don't know what it means," Ginny said, bewildered.

"Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo," Kevin mocked, then jabbed her in the groin. He cackled horribly then raced away toward the blazing bonfire. Ginny had tears in her eyes, but her anger was so intense that the tears dried.

She glared at the singer, still not completely aware of what was going on except that she knew the song was rude because of the guffaws of the adult men in the watching circle. After a moment she slipped away toward the church.

She stood within the lych-gate watching the flickering of the fire, the highlit faces of the crowds, the restless movement, the jigging and hopping… hearing the laughter, and the music, and the distant wind that was fanning the fire and making the flames bend violently and dangerously toward the south. And she wondered where, in all this chaos, her mother might have been.

Mother had been so supportive to her, so gentle, so kind. During the nights when the nightmare had been a terrible presence in the house by the old road, where Ginny had lived since her real parents had died in the fire, during those terrible nights the Mother had been so comforting. Ginny had come to think of her as her own mother, and all grief, all sadness had faded fast.

Where
was
the Mother? Where
was
she?

She saw Mr. Box, walking slowly through the crowds, a baked potato in one hand and a glass of beer in the other. She ran to him and tugged at his jacket. He nearly choked on his potato and glanced around urgently, but soon her voice reached him and, although he frowned, he stooped down toward her. He threw the remnants of his potato away and placed his glass upon the ground.

"Hello Ginny…"He sounded anxious.

"Mr. Box. Have you seen mother?"

Again he looked uncomfortable. His kindly face was a mask of worry. His mustache twitched. "You see… she's getting the reception ready."

"What reception?" Ginny asked.

"Why, for Cyric, of course. The war hero. The man who's coming back to us. He's finally agreed to return to the village. He was supposed to have come three years ago, but he couldn't make it."

"I don't care about him," she said. "Where's mother?"

Mr. Box placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and shook his head. "Can't you just play, child? It's what you're supposed to do. I'm just a pub landlord. I'm not part of the Organizers. You shouldn't even… you shouldn't even be
talking
to me."

"I'm being denied," she whispered.

"Yes," he said sadly.

"Where's mother?" Ginny demanded.

"An important man is coming back to the village," Mr. Box said. "A great hero. It's a great honor for us… and…"He hesitated before adding, in a quiet voice, "And what he's bringing with him is going to make this village more secure…"

"What
is
he bringing?" Ginny asked.

"A certain knowledge," Mr. Box said, then shrugged. "It's all I know. Like all the villages around here, we've had to fight to keep out the invader, and it's a hard fight. We've all been waiting a long time for this night, Ginny. A very long time. We made a pledge to this man. A long time ago, when he fought to save the village. Tonight we're honoring that pledge. All of us have a part to play…"

Ginny frowned. "Me too?" she asked, and was astonished to see large tears roll down each of Mr. Box's cheeks.

"Of course you too, Ginny," he whispered, and seemed to choke on the words. "I'm surprised that you don't know. I always thought the children knew. But the way these things work… the rules…"He shook his head again. "I'm not privileged to know."

"But why is everybody being so horrible to me?" Ginny said.

"Who's everybody?"

"Mick," she said. "And Kevin. He called me a cuckoo…"

Mr. Box smiled, "They're just teasing you. They've been told something of what will happen this evening and they're jealous."

He straightened up and took a deep breath. Ginny watched him, his words sinking in slowly. She said, "Do you mean what will happen to
me
this evening?"

He nodded. "You've been
chosen, "
he whispered to her. "When your parents were killed, the Mother was sent to you to prepare you. Your role tonight is a very special one. Ginny, that's all I know. Now go and play, child. Please…"

He looked suddenly away from her, toward the dancers. Ginny followed his gaze. Five men, two of whom she recognized, were watching them. One of them shook his head slightly and Mr. Box's touch on Ginny's shoulder went away. A woman walked toward them, her dress covered with real flowers, her face like stone. Mr. Box pushed Ginny away roughly. As she scampered for safety she could hear the sound of the woman's blows to Mr. Box's cheek.

The fire burned. Long after it should have been a glowing pile of embers, it was still burning. Long after they should have been exhausted, the Scarrowmen danced. The night air was chill, heavy with smoke, bright with drifting sparks. It echoed to the jingle of bells and the clatter of cudgels. Voices drifted on the wind; there was laughter; and around and around the Morrismen danced.

Soon they had formed into a great circle, stretched around the fire and jigging fast and furious to the strident, endless rhythm of drums and violin. All the village danced, and the strangers too, men and women in anoraks and sweaters, and children in woolly hats, and teenagers in jeans and leather jackets, all of them mixed up with the white-and-black clothed Oozers, Pikers, Thackers and the rest.

Around the burning fire, stumbling and tottering, shrieking with mirth as a whole segment of the ring tumbled in the mud. Around and around.

The bells, the hammering of sticks, the whine of the violin, the Jack Tar sound of the accordion.

And at ten o'clock the whole wild dance stopped.

Silence.

The men reached down and took the bells from their legs, cast them into the fire. The cudgels, too, were thrown onto the flames. The violins were shattered on the ground, the fragments tossed into the conflagration.

The accordions wept music as they were slung onto the pyre.

Flowers out of hair. Bonnets from heads. Rose and lily were stripped off the lych-gate. The air filled suddenly with a sharp, aromatic scent… of herbs, woodland herbs.

In the silence Ginny walked toward the church, darted through the gate into the darkness of the graveyard… Around between the long mounds to the iron gate…

Kevin was there. He ran toward her, his eyes wide, wild. "He's coming!" he hissed, breathlessly.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

"Where are you going?" he said.

"To the camp. I'm frightened. They've stopped dancing. They're burning their instruments. This happened three years ago when Mary… when… you know…"

"Why are you so frightened?" Kevin asked. His eyes were bright from the distant glow of the bonfire. "What are you running from, Ginny? Tell me. Tell me. We're friends…"

"Something is wrong," she sobbed. She found herself clutching at the boy's arms. "Everybody is being so horrible to me.
You
were horrible to me. What have I done? What have I done?"

He shook his head. The flames made his dark eyes gleam. She had her back to the square. Suddenly he looked beyond her. Then he smiled. He looked at her.

"Goodbye, Ginny," he whispered.

She turned. Kevin darted past her and into the great mob of masked men who stood around her. They had come upon her so quietly that she had not heard a thing. Their faces were like black pigs. Eyes gleamed, mouths grinned. They wore white and black… the Scarrows.

Unexpectedly, Kevin began to whine. Ginny thought he was being punished for being out of bounds. She listened, and then for one second… just one second… all was stillness, all was silence, anticipation. Then she reacted as any sensible child would react in the situation.

She opened her mouth and screamed. The sound had barely echoed in the night air when a hand clamped firmly across her face, a great hand, strong, stifling her cry. She struggled and pulled away, turned and kicked until she realized it was the Mother that she fought against. She was no longer wearing her rowan beads, or her iron charm. She seemed naked without them. Her dress was green and she held Ginny firmly still. "Hold quiet, child. Your time is soon."

The iron gate was open. Ginny peered through it, into the darkness, through the grassy walls of the old fort and toward the circle of great elms.

There was a light there, and the light was coming closer. And ahead of that light there was a wind, a breeze, ice cold, tinged with a smell that was part sweat, part rot, and unpleasant in the extreme. She grimaced and tried to back away, but the Mother's hands held her fast. She glanced over her shoulder, toward the square, and felt her body tremble as the Scarrows stared beyond her, into the void of night.

Two of the Scarrows held tall, hazel poles, each wrapped around with strands of ivy and mistletoe. They stepped forward and held the poles to form a gateway between them. Ginny watched all of this and shivered. And she felt sick when she saw Kevin held by others of the Scarrows. The boy was terrified. He seemed to be pleading with Ginny, but what could she do? His own mother stood close to him, weeping silently.

The wind gusted suddenly and the first of the shadows passed over so quickly that she was hardly aware of its transit. It appeared out of nowhere, part darkness, part chill, a tall shape that didn't so much walk
as flow
through the iron gate. Looking at that shadow was like looking into a depthless world of dark; it shimmered, it hazed, it flickered, it moved, an uncertain balance between that world and the real world. Only as it passed between the hazel poles held by the Scarrows, and then into the world beyond, did it take on a form that could be called… ghostly.

Distantly the priest's voice intoned a greeting. Ginny heard him say, "Welcome back to
Scarugfell
. Our pledge is fulfilled. Your life begins again."