A/N: Another update. Sorry for the wait, I was so angry with my laptop I left it in my apartment over break. The horrid thing broke down at 4 a.m. while I was in the middle of my marathon ConLaw final. So this chapter is a little out of order because what should have come next is on that evil machine in St. Louis. I'll rearrange things eventually, but wanted to post this now that it's written.

Standard Disclaimers Apply: Will Stanton, Jane Drews, Bran Davies, and the complete The Dark Is Rising universe belongs to Susan Cooper. Oh, I should also credit Ursula Le Guin's The Farthest Shore, from which I borrowed the language "The magic had run out." No plagiarism or profit is intended by this story. Trust me, if I was making any money off of this, I sure as hell wouldn't be in law school.

Sorry, I'm still suffering from the residual bitterness of finals - please make me happy and review!

Reader Review Responses are below.

Chapter Thirteen

"We are better able to enjoy a fantasy as fantasy when it is not our own."

- Susan Sontag, died December 29, 2004.

"In a tremble they opened the street door. Mr. Darling would have rushed upstairs, but Mrs. Darling signed to him to go softly. She even tried to make her heart go softly.

Will they reach the nursery in time? If so, how delightful for them, and we shall all breathe a sigh of relief, but there will be no story. On the other hand, if they are not in time, I solemnly promise that it will all come right in the end."

- J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan.

The midnight wind whistled through the deserted churchyard, high and strange, and snow blew in clouds across the icy pavement. Everything was dark except for the light of a lone streetlamp shining orange upon the luminescent ground.

The concert-goers had long since returned home. It had been a strange and troubling night, and they drank Christmas Eve hot chocolate with their sleepy sons and daughters in an attempt to capture the usual holiday cheer. They failed, but could not say why they failed. Goodnight kisses placed against damp foreheads were distracted, and whispered promises about the coming delights of Christmas morning rang false. Sugar cookies tasted like dust, and stockings hung from chimneys limp like small slaughtered beasts. They fell asleep that night with glum hearts. The magic had run out.

But in the still churchyard, in the dim glow of the streetlamp, two lonely shadows sat upon the churchyard steps. They remained at some distance from each other, each huddled into their own private ball of misery. The cold was harsh, and both must have suffered from shivers and runny noses. But neither Jane nor Bran suggested leaving their watchful post.

Jane stirred and lifted her head from her knees, her face pale under her dark hat. The words dripped from her lips heavy as molten lead.

"You did check the car twice? And the house?"

Bran's response was distant and cool. "Yes. Everything was dark. I searched the treehouse, too. Empty. And you looked inside here?" His jeweler's fingers played with a frost-encrusted stick. The light from the streetlamp bounced off the turning wood so that it looked like smoldering embers in the night.

"There isn't single corner of this wretched church I missed. I even looked in the sacristy; someone left the door unlocked. But they weren't there. They weren't there!"

"Jane, calm yourself."

"Bran, I can't help thinking . . . what about the river? They wouldn't have gone to the river, would they?"

Shadow-Bran hurled the stick into the darkness and buried his face in his hands. His voice was muffled against mittened fingers. "I don't think so. I've told Peter many times how dangerous it could be, even if the ice looked solid. He wouldn't have taken Annie there; he knows better. And I walked for a quarter mile along the banks. There were no holes in the ice, and no footprints save mine."

"Still . . ."

"I know, Jenny. I know. Just try not to think about it."

"How could two children vanish so completely? Madeleine saw them leave the building, but no one saw them outside. Most of the students, even those in Peter's grade, didn't even know who I was asking about. It was like they'd never even met him. Even that nice little Hana Shields girl just looked at me as if I was insane. Isn't that strange?"

Bran shrugged. "Isn't everything that happens when Will Stanton's around 'strange'?"

Jane shivered and wrapped her arms about her updrawn knees, resting her cheek against her coarse wool coat. "Of course," she whispered. "And where are you on this winter's night, Will Stanton? Where have you taken our children?"

The only movement was the clouds of condensation their frozen breathes made in the night air. When Jane finally spoke again, her voice was thick with misery.

"Bran, I don't understand anything that's happening. But do you feel like we're . . . missing something? I can't explain it, but it's almost as if . . . as if . . ."

"As if there was a voice trying to tell us something, but we aren't tuned to the right frequency to hear it?"

"Something like that. Or as if I was in a room from my childhood, but everything is dark and I've forgotten how to feel my way by touch."

"And why is it we don't know anything? " Bran turned to his wife, and she saw the bright anger start to flare in his owl's eyes. "Jane, do you know where Will's been these past three years? Why it is we never heard from him?"

Caught, she was unable to look away from that yellow glare. Her breath began to come hard. Bran looked dangerous. His eyes glittered gold and she knew well that proud tilt of the chin. She wasn't frightened, but it had been a long time since she had seen such a sharp intensity in his face; so long she had almost forgotten that it was this wildness in the albino boy she had first fallen in love with. That other love, the trusting kind built upon his sweetness and devotion, which had allowed them to marry and raise a family, had come later. That love was the greatest treasure life had given her. But it was this fey madness that had drawn her to Bran all those years ago in the Welsh mountains, when she had seen him for the first time in a halo of light created by sun's reflection off his brilliant white hair.

How could she have forgotten?

"No," she whispered, not really sure what question she was answering. "I – I just assumed he was busy traveling and doing research. I never really wondered about it. I missed him, of course . . ."

She could hear his teeth grinding together. "Well, I've wondered about it. Did you know that his family hasn't seen him in three years either? Not even his older brother Stephen; I know, I called to ask. Will just wrote or phoned every now and then to tell them how busy he was working. And the only thing his university would tell me was that he was on sabbatical and didn't leave an address. He disappeared after we left, and hasn't reappeared until now.

"Jenny, Will knows something. He knew it when he walked up our driveway last week. Otherwise, he wouldn't have come. And now he won't tell me a damn thing."

He stared dully into the darkness; the fire of his anger dimmed and fell to ashes, leaving his face cold and eerily white. He scuffed a foot against a step, the gravel left by countless snow-covered shoes crunching under his boot. "Some friendship, huh?"

The melancholy in his voice made him human once again in Jane's eyes, nothing more than the man who had changed dirty diapers and snored gently in her ear on winter nights. She hitched herself over the few feet of ice separating them and grasped him by the wrist. She studied him with searching eyes. He stared back, and she noticed how the crow's feet about his eyes were getting deeper. She knew her own face carried the same lines. They were getting older.

"Bran, have you ever wondered about why we never question Will? This is not normal. Any sane person would have called the police hours ago. But we've never even mentioned the possibility."

Bran looked puzzled. "Why would we call the police? They couldn't do anything; they have no idea what's going on. I mean, you can't have just anyone nosing around when Will has something to do. It would be dangerous."

"Are you listening to yourself, Bran? Do you hear?" There was rising excitement in her voice, as if she was on the verge of deciphering a complicated and troubling code.

"Hear what?"

"You talk about the danger of people meddling in Will's affairs. But really, Bran, how do we know its dangerous? But somehow we do . . . and now he has our children with him, wherever he went. At least, let's hope so."

Bran studied her with wary eyes.

Jane took a deep breath. This was the moment to say what she knew needed to be said. The words left her in an impassioned rush. "Bran, I've -- I've been having these dreams. The strangest dreams! I can't even describe them, because when I wake in the morning they're all but forgotten. All that's ever left is a wisp of a memory, the ghost of a friend."

Despite everything, Bran smiled to himself. This was one of the things he loved most about his writer wife, how even when things were darkest she could spin language like a poet.

"And my story, Bran, do you know why I've let no one read it, not even you? I'm scared of it. I find my dreams again in my story; they come back as I write. There are three children, two brothers and a sister, and they travel to Wales for vacation. They meet two boys there, two magical, wonderful boys, the best of friends, and they have the most amazing adventures together and defeat the forces of evil. But in the end everything must be forgotten, and crumble into dust, for – "

"Jenny – "

"No, don't interrupt me, dammit! And don't tell I'm mad, because I'm not. I tell you, it's too real! Bran, I feel the words as I write them. The emotions of the girl are my emotions; her fears are my fears; the sun that shines on her arms warms me."

He could not bear the anguish on her face. Oh, yes, he believed her; he had known her too long to doubt her now. And she wasn't crazy. Or if she was crazy, then they were both insane together, for he knew as she did the story she was telling him. He saw its shadowy edges lurking in the dim corners of his mind, he just couldn't grasp its true substance.

And because his heart was breaking for reasons he could not name, he reached his arms about her and enveloped her in the most massive hug he could manage, for both her comfort and his.

Jane pressed her cheek hard against the his shoulder, turned her face to the darkness, and continued her confession in a whisper.

"The last dream was the strangest though, and it came the night after the first bombings. It's the first one I've remembered clearly. We were all together in the mountains: you, Will, I and my brothers, and an old man, our uncle, who was leaving us. And he told me something about Peter and Annie that I couldn't remember. And when he left Will asked me for the stone, our stone that you gave me years ago. I woke up then. And the stone was gone. I'd lost it! And now I feel, Bran, I feel it in my bones, that somehow all these things are connected, and that is why our children are gone."

Bran felt a plunging hollowness in his chest. He had forgotten to tell Jane that he had given the stone to Will. He put her at arm's length from him and wiped a tear from her cheek. She looked at him with misery. "I'm so sorry, Bran! I've looked everywhere, but it's nowhere to be found. I've lost the first present you ever gave me!" The tears began to pour, and she sobbed and gasped. "I've lost it! And everything I've ever held dear has gone with it!"

He massaged her small shoulders and forced a laugh, low and awkward. "Don't cry, Jenny. I have a confession to make as well. You didn't lose your stone; Will has it. I gave it to him. Perhaps your dream spoke true."

The tears stopped abruptly. Her face froze in an expression of surprise for several seconds, and then began to melt into a thoughtful perplexity. "You mean . . . Will? But why?"

"He's renting a Heidelberg professor's house next term, and apparently the man is quite the expert on Welsh artifacts. Will told me wrote a scholarly article about stones that sounded exactly like yours, and that . . ."

His voice trailed off, and Jane watched his features harden. His hands dropped from her shoulders, and he turned to hunch his shoulders against the wind. He folded his arms against his stomach, hands clenched at the elbows. When he spoke his voice was so soft she had to strain to hear the words.

"Never mind that, Jenny. I don't know what he wanted it for."

She let him sit alone with Will's lie for some time. She had to think. A pattern began to form before her, and within it was woven hours and days of which she had no recollection. But there was one specific night that blazed in her memory like a beacon. She moved over so their knees touched and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Do you remember, Bran," she began quietly, "that night when Will and I were visiting you in Wales? I think we were sixteen at the time. Your father called to say his truck had broken down and that he would be staying the night in Tywyn because of a storm."

Bran became perfectly still. Tension stiffened the shoulder beneath her cheek. "Yes. All the roads were flooded. He couldn't walk and didn't want to make someone risk an accident by giving him a lift."

"I remember that night well. I had never seen such lightning before, like electric webbing across the sky. I felt I would explode just watching it, it was that beautiful. The power went out, and you and Will put candles and lamps all throughout the room. We cooked hotdogs over a kerosene flame for dinner and were planning to kip on the floor. We all felt very grown-up and adventurous. And a little wild. 'Come,' you said, and threw a tablecloth over my shoulders. 'Let's pretend that you and I are lord and lady of the castle-keep, and Will there our indentured dewin, bound to serve until a curse placed upon him by an evil sorceress is lifted. The enemy hordes are upon us. We're outnumbered dreadfully, and it is the eve of a bloody battle.'"

"What a singularly adventurous lad I was then."

She ignored him. "I laughed, for a game of pretend pleased my mood, and I was giddy with love for you. Never mind that we were all far too old for make-believe. But Will, I remember, had been quiet that night. More so than usual. While we were racing about and giggling like children, he sat in a corner and gazed out at the storm with that intense way he has. But you would have none of his moodiness.

"'Dewin,' you commanded, throwing out an arm and laughing. 'Fetch me a lightning bolt for my scepter, so that I may destroy the barbarian hordes, and stars to adorn the crown of my queen.'"

Bran let out a great whoosh of air and drew an arm about her shoulders, pulling her closer than she already was. "Ah, that I remember. You don't know how well the candlelight and my father's old tablecloth suited you. I had never seen you look more lovely. The vision of stars nestled in your brown hair left me breathless."

It was a rare confession, and her cheeks reddened. Pleased, she raised an unconscious hand to tuck a strand of still-dark hair behind an ear.

"Will looked up from his corner and saw us standing before him, flushed and smiling and completely alive in the candlelight. There was a strange smile in his face. He stood and walked to the door, flinging it open and letting in the raging night. The wind blew out all the candles and lamps. He raised his arms as if to embrace the storm. He laughed and turned his head to look back at us, grinning because he knew we now felt unprotected and scared.

"'Do you wish a lightning bolt for your scepter, King Bran?' he asked mockingly, joining our game. 'As your dewin, I cannot advise it, for your fingers would grow burnt and scorched, and you would not be able to hold it. Thus would you lose your kingdom, my lord, though all your enemies lay dead at your feet from so terrible a weapon. It is not a wise wish. As for stars for your lady's crown . . .' He laughed at me. 'None should molest the heavens, lest doing so should throw the whole universe into imbalance. It is best to let the stars burn in peace, as they have for age upon age.'

"I remember screaming then, for a bolt of lightning reached down from the sky and struck Cader Idris in the distance. Your hand clenched my arm at the elbow, and I felt your trembling throughout my whole body. Then there was a great gust of wind, greater than any that had come before, and the door blew shut in Will's face, leaving us all in darkness.

"Without speaking, we fumbled in the blackness for the box of matches and re-lit the candles and lamps with trembling fingers. I shrugged the tablecloth from my shoulders; I had had enough of pretend. When the room was bright again, Will crossed his arms, leaned his back against the door, and looked at us. I remember how tired he looked; I felt sorry for him.

"'Forget the lightning and the stars, Bran,' he whispered, eyes on the floor. 'Your dewin cannot give them to you. But while I live, know this. Every breath in my body belongs to you and Jane and those who will follow you. No harm shall come to you or yours that I can prevent. Remember that, my friends. When things grow darkest, remember that one thing.'

"We stared at him, and I can't imagine the expressions that must have been on our faces. But Will just cackled and wiggled his fingers at us. 'The curse of the evil sorceress requires no less,' he said, grinning. 'And I shall do her heinous bidding until Simon Drews puts on a pink dress and a curly wig and asks me to the Holiday Ball. Which, as we all know, will never happen, no matter how much I should wish it.'"

"We all laughed at that: Will simply, and you and I nervously, relieved that whatever had happened was over. You suggested cards, and we sat cross-legged in a circle on the floor and stayed up much longer than we should have, laughing and joking as any adolescents would. The ice cream was melting, so we took it out and gorged ourselves. And we should have forgotten the night with the coming day. But I didn't forget, Bran. I don't think we were meant to. Not that, at least."

Great shudders were running through Bran's whole body. "It was just pretend, Jenny-girl. Just nonsense to pass the time. Will wanted to scare the daylights out of us, that's all. He did a bloody fine job at it, too."

"Do you really believe that, Bran?" She studied his profile earnestly in the darkness.

He shook his head, but it was a half-hearted gesture. "What else should I believe? Come on, Jane! Listen to you, you sound completely barmy! Will's eccentric, that's all, he always has been. This is no different. He probably just took the kids somewhere to show them . . . oh, I don't know! The poetry of a branch in the moonlight or something just as sappy. And he forgot about the time. They'll be back any minute now, you'll see."

"No, Bran. I see now they won't."

He let out a hoarse sob and turned to bury his face in her neck.

"Shh," she whispered, running a hand through his hair. "Bran, I'm scared, too. More scared than I've ever been in my entire life. But Peter and Annie will come back to us, somehow or another, I know they will. And whatever Will told you, whatever lie he spoke, it was for the best. I'll never understand him, but I trust him. And I know you do, too."

They sat silent for some while. Jane didn't know whether the moistness she felt on her neck came from his tears or the snow that had begun to fall gently from the sky.

Once Bran's breathing was calm and even again, he rose and held a hand out to her. His face was quiet. "Come," he said, grasping her wrist and pulling her to her feet. She looked at him quizzically, but complied. The bell tower above them began to chime. Twelve long, deep tolls that vibrated in their stomachs and quivered in the cold night air.

Midnight. Christmas Day.

They stood facing each other, their heads tilted upwards as if they could see the peals that soared like hawks above their heads. Like children making a solemn vow and promise, their clasped hands hung between them.

When the last strike of the bell died away, Bran looked down at his wife and gave her a bittersweet grin. "Merry Christmas, my lovely friend," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her lips. "Let's go home."

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Silvergenji: Grins happily I know I've said this already, but congratulations on little Kyle! I hope he's enjoying his new swing : ). Sorry about the cliffy, and also that this chapter won't answer any questions. The next will be up quickly, though, sometime next week. (If my computer isn't dead for good, that is. Otherwise . . . well, we'll see.)

Chyneua: Thanks! Don't worry about not doing a review justice, just the fact that you care enough to review chapter after chapter makes me ecstatic. : ).

MollyTheWanderer: Ah, I've bagged another new reviewer . . . I love knowing I'm reaching new readers. Thank you thank you thank you! Glad I made your venture into the TDIR forum exciting!