Chapter Two

'Hello, are you okay?' Harry asked, moving forwards slowly towards the girl. He held his hands out, palms open. She looked back at him with wary, hunted eyes and swung the dagger towards him. He stopped, eyeing the blade and then slowly reached his hand towards her. As his hand crossed the circle there was a small flash of light like a bulb burning out and the girl yelped in fear. 'I'm here to help,' he said gently, trying to convey more with the tone than the words.

'Swear,' she whispered, her voice hoarse. Her accent was strange to him, with an odd cadence.

He blinked, 'You speak English? Yes, I swear. I want to help you. I mean you no harm.'

'By iron and rowan? By your blood and bone?'

'I swear,' he said, bemused, 'by blood and bone, by iron and … did you say rowan? Well I swear by all of those. I won't hurt you. Honestly,' he reassured her. She gave a small sob of relief and he lifted the dagger out of her hand.

'Yeh really not one of them,' she said slowly, looking at the iron resting in his hand. 'But yeh eyes, they're have fey eyes.'

He nodded slowly, unsure what she meant. 'It's okay. I'm going to take you back to the road now. Come on, steady now.' He helped her up gently and though she flinched she said nothing. He began to walk her back over the heather leading her slightly away from the caravan. 'So … what's your name?' He asked offering an arm to steady her as she stumbled. Her feet were bare but she seemed not to notice the tough, springy heather.

She drew away from him, wary once more, 'How dare yeh?'

He hesitated, 'I meant no offence. I'm not from around here.'

She looked at him dubiously. 'It's madness to tell a stranger yer name, any fool knows that.' Her eyes darted to the dagger in his hand. 'What are yeh? A wizard? A sorcerer? A Cunning-Man?'

'I'm a wizard, or at least I was where I come from,' he said, uncertainly. 'Where I'm from though we don't hide our names. I'm sorry. What may I call you then?'

'They call me Heather. As often as not,' she said after a moment's consideration before drawing herself up and straightening her red cloak. 'No wonder yeh wear black. It explains yer eyes too. What do they call you?'

'I'm …' he paused, 'sorry I can't really tell you. They call me by my name, but if that's not safe … if I decide on something I'll let you know.'

She nodded, apparently satisfied. 'Give my knife back,' she said as they reached the road and then she blushed. He handed it back to her and turned towards the caravan.

'Were they your family?' He asked.

She nodded, looking away from the overturned caravan.

'Can I … would you like to tell me what happened?' He asked gently. A look of terror passed over her face and she shook her head, wrapping the cloak closer around herself. 'Don't worry, we'll given them a decent burial.'

She shook her head in horror. 'No! Burn them. Please, yeh must.'

He looked at her for a moment and gave a curt nod. 'Is there anything I can retrieve from there for you before we burn it?'

She hesitated, biting back tears. 'My father's dirk,' she saw the blank look of confusion on his face, 'a long dagger, and his pipes.'

He turned to the caravan, 'Old man? Are you in there?'

Tom looked steadily at the man in the caravan. 'Who are you?'

The other just smiled thinly, 'You know me well, Tom.'

Tom flinched, 'How do you know that name? Who are you?'

'I know everyone's name. Do you hear that? He is calling.'

There was a shout from outside and for a moment Tom looked aside, by the time he had turned back the stranger was gone. The light seemed brighter without him. Sunlight dappled the interior in red and yellow as the light shone through the painted canvas.

'Are you in there?' Harry's head poked inside. 'There you are. I've found a survivor. Talks English. Still in shock I think. I don't think it's really registered yet. We ought to move on.' He rummaged inside a chest bolted to the floor and picked a dirk in a black sheath and a set of pan-pipes out from it.

'Boy did you see anyone leave the caravan?' Tom asked slowly, reluctant to lower his wand yet.

'No. Why? She says we need to burn the bodies,' he cast a glance at the limp grandmother. 'She might be right.' He turned to leave before adding, 'Oh and don't tell her you name or ask for hers, apparently it's a bit of a faux pas in these parts. We're calling her Heather.'

'No reason,' Tom said, casting a final look around before backing out slowly, wand at the ready. He paused surprised. 'She speaks English?'

The boy was gone though and there was no answer. He snatched up a few blankets, chucked what appeared to be a coin purse into the satchel with everything else and left.

They levitated the rag-doll like bodies into the caravan and then gave the girl a few moments at the younger man's insistence. She struck the flints, lighting the small pile of tinder she had placed within the caravan. It took only a few minutes for the entire structure to become ablaze as the fire caught on the oily canvas and dry wood. Smoke spun into the sky, drifting in the light breeze.

'We should move,' Tom said, watching the smoke. 'This is too obvious.'

Harry shot him a reproachful look but said nothing. The girl watched the flames, silently clutching the pan-pipes in one hand, the edges of her cloak in the other. She had slung the loop of the dirk's sheath over her shoulder so that it hung by her side. Tom sighed, turned on his heel and began to march down the road. After a short pause he heard two sets of footsteps hurrying to catch up.

'Oh no. No more strays,' he said without turning.

'She's got no-one, and we know nothing of the customs of this place. She'll be useful,' Harry pointed out.

'Very well. I will take the knowledge from her and we will carry on our way. Unhindered,' Tom said firmly. 'I will even let her live.'

'The kid is under my protection. Aren't you Heather?'

'I am no child,' the girl insisted quietly.

'It does not sound as if she is … stand aside now and I will be gentle,' Tom promised stopping in his tracks and turning sharply so that the dust and pebbles on the road crunched under his boots. His wand slipped into his hand

'Heather,' the younger said firmly, 'just accept my protection. Please. I know you're not a child.'

She nodded slowly, glancing back and forwards between the two of them. Tom sighed and sheathed the wand. 'Very well. However, you had better make yourself useful.'

She nodded again, eyeing the wand in its sheath suspiciously. 'So, girl, why no names?' He asked, turning and striding onwards.

'Wise-men are yeh not? Wizards?' She asked curiously. They both nodded. 'Then how is it you don't know about names?'

'We're not from around here. The culture, the laws of magic and so on were different,' Harry said.

'Well names, words, writin', they're power. Everyone knows that. You can find someone with a name. Should a magician, one of that sort, or the Gentry get your name …' she shuddered, the words trailing off.

'The Gentry?' Tom asked curiously.

'Don't talk about them too much, least-ways not with the same name,' she urged, 'and please … not now.' She cast a glance over her shoulder towards the smoke of the caravan.

'It's okay Heather. You don't have to talk about them,' Harry said quietly, 'what sort of things are used as names then?'

'It depends. Some places people just go by their profession: Baker, Burner, Candlestick-Maker. Travelling folk often use the names of wild things. Then there are the cats, but they don't care so much. Hard to bind a cat,' she said, almost wistfully.

'Doesn't that get confusing in towns? There must be a fair number of bakers,' Harry pointed out.

She shrugged, 'They can always be the Young Baker and the Old Baker. Why would it be confusing? Anyhow most have other use names too, things from different parts and the like.'

'No reason.'

'This is nonsensical though. You are still calling yourself this thing so that is your name,' Tom said. 'It sounds like a half-baked superstition to me.'

'Nah. It's not the name you were given. I am not named Heather. I'm just called Heather,' she said patiently, the conversation apparently distracting her.

'So, I might choose anything to be called?' Tom asked curiously. 'Say Lord, or the Master?'

'If yeh want people to laugh,' she said.

Tom shrugged and then after a moment's thought announced, 'I think, that the Serpent would be a suitable name.'

'You need to move on Old Man. Your school days are long behind you now,' Harry muttered quietly.

Heather, her footsteps beginning to slow ignored them both, 'Look, once we're out of sight of … that, can we rest? I'm dog-tired.'

'Of course,' Harry said, cutting off any objections from Tom who merely rolled his eyes and continued walking, small puffs of white dust rising from beneath his boots as he strode onwards. Behind them the smoke slowly faded into the distance as before them the shadow of a forest grew greater and darker on the horizon beneath the blur of mountains.

Tom took the second watch that night. The stars were bright, silver points in the vault of the sky. They had camped less than a mile from the edge of the forest and the trees loomed in the distance, appearing unnaturally, impossibly tall in the starlight. The fire burnt low, dull red embers glowing softly cast a faint light over the sleeping forms of the boy and the child.

Tom leant forward to prod the fire, placing another piece of firewood gathered from the last clump of pines onto it. The flames spat and sparked as the wood caught and the resin landed in the fire. A shiver ran through them and they died down again.

'Good evening,' said a voice from the other side of the fire.

Tom looked up. 'Oh, it's you again,' he said before looking back to the flames. 'Will you tell me who you are now?'

'No,' the stranger said. 'Is there any name by which you would like to be known? Tom? Voldemort? Serpent? Something else perhaps?'

Tom twitched slightly but merely shrugged, 'Call me what you will. You know who I am.'

'Of course. Would you like a clue as to my identity?'

'If it pleases you,' Tom said, tossing the stick down and gathering his cloak tighter around him.

'In this spot a hundred years ago, the Gentry caught a man and woman they had pursued over hill and through dale. I was there. I have been with you time and again in your life. I was there when you were born,' the stranger said softly. He looked over towards Heather, 'that woman has never forgotten me.'

'Ah,' Tom swallowed heavily and drew his cloak tighter still. 'Is this the point where I challenge you to a game of chess then?'

'No. I have not come for you, or for your companions, yet.'

'Why are you following me then?' Tom challenged him.

'Following you?' The stranger chuckled, speaking softly and gently, 'I am there for every life in every world that ever was, will be or might be. I am there when stars fail, galaxies die, and universes are un-knit. Do you imagine your life matters to me? You are nothing. I Can Wait.' There was a silence after he had spoken, even the normal noises of night animals had ceased, and the sound of the fire seemed to ebb away.

'What do you want then? I will admit that I have been running from you for decades, but I have never seen you … like this before,' Tom said. Now that he was facing his fear there did not seem to be much point in running.

'I wish to offer you a bargain. There is something I wish to know, something I wish you to do for me,' the stranger said, pleasantly.

'What would be my reward?' Tom asked without hesitation, looking up into the stranger's eyes. In the shadows thrown by the fire they were almost black and as he looked at them he froze. He shivered and looked away, his limbs trembled as weak as water. Sweat erupted over his body.

The stranger smiled and drew a playing card from somewhere in his robe. The back of it was black but the front bore the image of a dancing skeleton. 'Do as I ask, let me do what is necessary, and shall give you this card. Whosoever bears it shall be immortal.'

'Do you really expect me to believe that?' Tom asked, though his eyes never left the playing card.

'It's your choice. All I ask is that for a moment you bring me your other companion's cloak,' the stranger said, waving a pale hand in Harry's general direction.

'That is all?' Tom asked suspiciously. 'What's so valuable about that?'

'Please do it. I will explain,' the stranger said, 'is it really such a high price?'

For a moment Tom hesitated, 'No harm will come to him?'

'I will not touch a hair on his head,' the stranger paused seeing Tom's look. 'This will not harm him.'

With a swift motion Tom threw back his cloak, took the three steps towards the Boy and gently plucked the long, silvery cloak from his pocket. Then he held it out towards the stranger. It, however, looked only at the sleeping boy.

'Fascinating,' he murmured.

'Do you want me to give it to you?' Tom asked, his eyes fixed on the card. 'Why does this matter so much to you?'

'It is … complicated. I cannot so much as touch this artefact, or its owner,' he cast a long, amused look at Tom. 'No, do not think of taking it for your own. It belongs to him and may not be taken by force or stealth. It would only return to him,' the stranger sighed running his hand through the air above the cloak. 'Once there were three brothers walking along a road at twilight … to youngest I gave this cloak, once my own, to pass unseen by all.' It stood, walked over to Harry and ran a hand through the air before touching the card again.

Tom looked longingly at the cloak for a moment before sliding it back into the boy's pocket. 'So, is that all?'

'Yes. For now,' the stranger stood and flicked the card towards Tom. It spun lazily over the fire and Tom half leapt for it, snatching it from the air and clutching it tightly.'

'As long as you carry that you shall not die or age. Lose it and you will be as mortal as any man.' The stranger turned away from the fire. 'We will meet again, Tom.' Then it was gone, the night sounds returned.

Morning broke slowly, golden sunlight crept across the landscape. They ate sparingly of the bread they had taken from the caravan. Heather spent most of the meal staring at the food, barely moving. The sun had barely begun to truly dispel the dew which lingered on the heather when they set off again.

Tom took the lead and Harry took the rear. They were more careful than they had been. The caravan and the girl's unwillingness to explain had left them wary. Nevertheless, they progressed swiftly. The last mile of the road before the forest was as flat and straight as ever.

'Have you ever heard of travellers from other worlds here?' Harry asked as they walked between twin ridges of heather, not far from the tall, pale trees. Dark green leaves, almost black in places, rustled in the faint breeze.

Heather looked up, apparently startled out of a daze. 'Only tales and the like, but there are many legends about such things. I heard tell all our ancestors were brought here long ago. Others say that we brought the Hunters here ourselves. Why?'

'I once knew a man who might have walked between the worlds. I was wondering if it had been known of here.'

Tom hissed as Heather asked, 'Does that mean yeh from a different world?'

'Yes.'

'Don't pull my leg,' she said uncertainly, 'What was it like?'

'It was home,' he said tightly, fixing his gaze on the trees ahead. The conversation faltered and died as they approached the trees.

The trees themselves were similar to beeches. Their branches spread out in wide arcs and below their roots interwove across the ground layered in fallen leaves and moss. The road continued, though here and there the silvery roots crept over its edges. Green shadows intermingled with small patches of golden sunlight lay across the forest floor. High above small fern like plants nestled in the crook of the trees, thick, succulent red flowers hung down from them. The smell of leaf mould, moss and the heady sweetness of the flowers mingled into a slow, sleepy atmosphere.

The wood was almost entirely silent, though perhaps an hour after they had first entered it Tom began to be convinced he could hear two distant noises. Firstly, he was slowly becoming more and more certain that something was following them. Very occasionally there would be the crack of a piece of wood or the concentrated rustle of leaves as something large moved through them, worryingly he could not shake the notion that it was intentionally making the noises. Secondly, there was the low, haunting whisper of wind chimes in the breeze.

Tom looked up between the branches trying to spot the chimes he was growing more and more convinced must be near. It took him almost a minute to spot them, swaying between the trees. Many were covered in moss and lichen, but others were newer. Curving wind-flutes of bone swung to and fro between the trees. He paused looking up at them. Many of the bones were human, some were larger some smaller, but the majority were undoubtedly those of men, women and children.

He was not a good man, at least by normal standards, and he proudly admitted it. He enjoyed causing pain, and being better, faster and crueller than any competitor, but there was something alien and cold in this.

'What do these mean?' He asked softly. Around them the quiet music of the chimes slipped between the silvery trees.

Heather spoke up quietly, 'They mean that we are at the border. They are the bones of those the lord or lady of this land, and that we're crossing to, slew. Now let's shift?' She asked nervously, 'By rowan and red thread I would prefer to be away from here.'

Tom ignored her plea. 'Those that they have personally slain? But there are thousands of bones here! I can see no end to them,' he said turning to look to the right and the left. Above in the trees the bones rattled together.

'Please, this is not a good place to be,' she insisted.

'Come on, we can talk about this later,' Harry insisted, he met Tom's gaze unflinchingly, though a brief, troubled expression crossed his face. 'Are you okay? You look a little strange.'

'I am fine,' Tom said brusquely, looking away.

They passed under the chimes and carried on down the road. Once the chimes had been passed the forest became lighter. There were more glades where they caught sight of forest ponies and deer as well as glittering birds which sang as they flitted from tree to tree.

They stopped for lunch beside a pool of clear water settled between granite rocks and the roots of the tall silvery trees. The water bubbled up between a pile of boulders washing away the leaves which floated on the water's surface carrying them down stream and away.

Tom perched himself on top of the boulders, watching the road as they ate. 'Where does this road go?' He asked at last once they had finished the Spartan meal. 'Who built it? Who keeps it up?'

The girl shrugged, 'It's always been here. Da,' she paused for a moment, her voice catching before she continued, 'Da used to say the Wandering God built it from a single hair.'

'It must go somewhere though. Roads are not just built to nowhere. Where does it pass? What is the next town?'

'Trewalder, the Mireless, Pentor, Charn, Rock, Pity Me, Tomorrow, Today, Yesterday, it doesn't have an end. Been told it goes beyond even the realm of Anfwn and the Marshes of Memories,' she said slowly, fiddling with the short grass she was sitting on, cross legged.

'That …' Tom paused cocking his head to listen, 'is peculiarly unhelpful.' He turned to look up the road. 'Can you hear that?' He slipped his wand into his hand and stood slowly.

'What is it?' Harry asked. The sound was drawing closer through the trees becoming defined, solid. 'Are those hooves?'

The girl crouched behind the rocks, 'Hide!'

Through the trees a rider in black, wearing a tall, wide-brimmed hat came in sight.