بخش 48

CHAPTER 94

THE RETURN

ASTER AND MAGILL approached the great stones from the northeast, climbing the gently rising hillside where Stonehenge was erected thousands of years earlier by people unknown, for reasons unknown.

As the two men drew near the tightly grouped arrangement, they began to see its various elements clearly in the bright moonlight.

Most dominant from the outside were the sarsen stones, standing in a circle one hundred feet across, each stone thirteen feet high and seven feet wide. Some were still supporting horizontal stones, called lintels, though most of those had long since fallen. Within the sarsen stone circle were the remains of another circle of smaller stones, known as bluestones, about six feet high, many of them now toppled or missing. Inside the bluestone circle stood the mighty trilithons, each made of two huge vertical stones, only a few inches apart, supporting a lintel. At one time there were five of these structures, the tallest standing twenty-four feet high. Three were still intact.

The entire grouping was surrounded by an ancient ditch, forming a circle more than three hundred feet across. On the northeast side of this ditch was an opening, which led out to the road. Standing next to the road, far from the main grouping, stood a lone sarsen, sixteen feet tall. This was known as the Heel Stone. It was here that Leonard Aster halted his horse, signaling for Magill to stop the wagon behind him. The men studied the main stone grouping. They saw nothing unusual, other than some dark birds perched atop the central trilithons. Aster’s eye lingered on the birds for a moment, as he realized they were ravens.

Like the ravens at the Tower, he thought. Odd.

Seeing no other humans, Aster signaled to Magill, who uttered a series of soft barking sounds. Instantly the wolves emerged from the field. Five took up sentry positions along the road; the sixth began a slow surveillance around the perimeter of Stonehenge.

Aster and Magill rode forward toward the main stone grouping. At the break in the ditch they came to the Slaughter Stone, a massive sarsen slab lying on its side, its uneven surface marked by hollows that, some said, once collected the blood of those who were sacrificed on it. Here Aster dismounted, tying his horse to a shrub. Magill climbed down from the wagon and removed the canvas covering. With a growl, Karl, the enormous bear, rose and clambered down from the wagon bed. He picked up the dark trunk and set it gently on the ground.

Aster opened the cloth sack. He removed a golden helmet, which shone like fire in the moonlight, and set it on the wagon bed. Next came a pair of golden boots, followed by a pair of golden gloves and a golden suit, both fashioned of a thin material that flexed like cloth.

Aster glanced up at the moon and frowned. The left side of the moon’s surface was distinctly darker than the right. It was not the sharply defined darkness that appeared on the sun in a solar eclipse, but the gradual shading of the lunar eclipse.

“It’s starting,” Aster said. He quickly shrugged off his coat and removed his boots, then began putting on the golden suit.

Magill watched unhappily.

“Wish you’d let me do this,” he said.

“I appreciate that, Magill,” said Aster. “But it’s too dangerous.”

“I could take Karl out there with me,” said Magill. “Never seen the danger Karl couldn’t handle.”

Aster smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid even Karl is no match for what’s in there,” he said, pointing to the trunk. “Somebody has to open the trunk when the eclipse reaches totality, and the moon is dark. Whoever that is has to be wearing this suit. Anybody else…any thing else…would die instantly.”

“But some has withstood it,” said Magill. “I’ve heard that.”

“That’s true,” said Aster. “Every once in a great while somebody comes along who can tolerate starstuff in large quantities.” He thought of Peter and his unwitting exposure back on the island—an exposure that gave him the power of flight, and agelessness, and…nobody knew what else. “But that’s a very rare quality,” he continued. “I doubt that more than a few people on Earth could survive being exposed to what’s in that trunk. Could you give me a hand with these gloves? They’re rather snug.”

In a moment, with Magill’s help, Aster was clad from neck to toe in the gleaming gold suit. He looked at the moon again; the shadow had deepened and broadened, and the moon now had a pronounced reddish hue.

“All right,” he said to Magill. “I’ll take the trunk in now. When the Return begins, the light may attract somebody from the village. You must not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to enter the stone circle. Nor must you or any of the animals enter. No matter what you see, or what you hear, once the Return has begun, you must stay away.”

“What if there’s trouble?” said Magill. “What if you need help?”

Aster laid a gold-gloved hand on Magill’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine,” he said softly. “And if I’m not, there’s nothing you, or anybody, can do.”

Aster put on the gold helmet. It covered his head and neck entirely; it had two holes in front, each covered with a fine gold mesh, which protected his eyes but enabled him to see quite well. With the helmet snugly in place, Aster bent and grabbed the trunk—which was much lighter than its bulk suggested—and hoisted it easily to his shoulder.

“Wish me luck,” he said, his voice a bit muffled by the helmet.

“Good luck,” said Magill.

With that, Aster turned and began carrying the trunk toward the heart of Stonehenge.

The wolf slowly circled the outer edge of the ditch, ears erect, eyes searching, nose sifting the thousands of scents drifting in the night air. As the wolf reached the southwest side of the ditch it stopped. Just ahead, in the moonlight, a dark thing rose from the ditch. The wolf sniffed. The thing had the silhouette of a man, but it did not smell like a man. It did not smell alive.

The thing oozed out of the ditch and toward the wolf. The wolf growled and bared its teeth. It was not so much afraid as puzzled; it could not understand why the thing was not warned off by the growl, the bared teeth.

The thing came straight at the wolf. The wolf lunged, jaws wide. It snapped at the thing. The jaws caught nothing, except a sensation of cold, as though they had tried to bite a winter fog. The wolf stumbled awkwardly, confused, having anticipated resistance, but finding none. It regained its footing and turned to snap its jaws again.

Too late.

Molly knew the feeling well.

“It’s wearing off, Peter,” she called.

They had passed over Amesbury and were flying along the road to Stonehenge, now clearly visible ahead. They were still about two hundred feet in the air, but Molly could feel the ground pulling on her, gently but relentlessly. The same was happening to George, but he was happily oblivious, swooping this way and that with a smile the width of his face, occasionally declaring to nobody in particular, “Brilliant!”

“Can you reach Stonehenge?” said Peter.

“I don’t know,” said Molly, looking ahead. “It’s going to be close.”

“It would be a good thing if you could,” said Peter, pointing at the road.

Molly looked down and saw three…now four wolves loping directly beneath them, looking up.

They look hungry, said Tink.

“What did she say?” Molly asked.

“She said we’re almost there,” said Peter.

Ombra stuffed the scout wolf’s shadow into the burlap sack. The shadowless wolf sat looking up at him, motionless.

Ombra spoke to it, not in a human tongue, but in guttural sounds.

You saw nothing, he said. Go.

The wolf trotted off, continuing its circuit of the stones, taking no notice as it passed the group of humans crouching in the ancient ditch. A few moments later the wolf was out of sight. Nerezza and Slank had their eyes on Ombra, who stood with his hood pointing upward as if listening for something.

There was a flutter of wings, a black shape flickering in the dark. A raven landed on Ombra’s shoulder. It leaned its head toward the hood, holding it there for a few seconds, then fluttered into the air and was gone.

Ombra moved close—uncomfortably close—to Nerezza and Slank. He spoke in a low, barely audible groan: “A man in a gold suit—I assume it is Aster—is carrying a trunk toward the center of the circle.”

“Do we take him?” whispered Nerezza.

“We move in,” said Ombra. “But carefully. If he sees us, or hears us, he has the power to destroy us in an instant.”

Nerezza and Slank exchanged glances: was there a hint—just a hint—of fear in Ombra’s voice?

“Single file,” groaned Ombra. “Riflemen behind me. Be ready to fire on my command. Mister Slank, bring Mrs. Aster. Captain Nerezza, you and your men will follow Mister Slank. Silently.”

The men stood. Slank pulled the limp form of Louise Aster to her feet. Ombra turned and glided across the open area toward the central grouping of stones, moving slightly to his right in order to take a path that kept him hidden from view by one of the massive outer sarsen stones. Reaching this stone, he signaled for the others to halt behind him. Ombra flattened himself against the stone and slid slowly around it, looking less like a living thing than a random moon-cast shadow.

Just ahead, providing excellent cover, was a smaller standing stone, a remnant of the inner bluestone circle. Ombra oozed back and beckoned the two riflemen forward, positioning one on each side of the bluestone. From here they had a clear view of the central trilithons.

With the riflemen in place, Ombra oozed forward into the bluestone’s shadow, where he became essentially invisible. There he waited.

He would not have to wait long.

Leonard Aster moved slowly, stopping every few feet to sur vey the area. He had seen nothing, and expected to see nothing. Had there been intruders, he was confident that Magill’s wolves would have detected them. Still, he was cautious.

He had passed through the outer sarsen circle, then the inner bluestone circle. He was now approaching the central trilithon stones, some towering high above him, others lying on the ground, where they had fallen unknown centuries ago.

Aster’s objective was the Altar Stone, a huge slab of sandstone lying on its side, broken in two, now embedded in the ground and almost entirely covered by fallen pieces of what had once been the tallest trilithon. Reaching this jumble of broken stone, Aster stopped and gently set the trunk down so that its wood touched an exposed corner of the altar stone. A raven fluttered past, so close that Aster ducked involuntarily. He looked up at the moon. It was now almost fully engulfed in shadow.

Just a few minutes, thought Aster. If that.

He knelt and prepared to unlatch the trunk. At long last, the Return was at hand.

Molly was not going to make it. Strain as she might, she was losing altitude rapidly; now she was fifteen feet above the wolves—now five of them—trotting directly below her feet, growling ominously. George, finally aware of the peril, was even lower, flapping his arms in a frantic, fruitless effort to gain altitude. Stonehenge was one hundred yards up the road.

“Peter,” Molly said. “We can’t—”

“I know,” Peter said, swooping close. “Take my hand. You too, George.”

With Molly holding one of his hands and George the other, Peter strained upward with all his might. He was able to hold them level for another twenty yards, but then their weight began to overcome his ability to fly. Down they dropped, toward the waiting jaws.

“I’m going to have to put you down,” said Peter, sounding far calmer than he felt. “When I do, you start running toward Stonehenge.”

“But,” said George, looking down, “what about the—”

“Don’t worry about the wolves,” said Peter. “I’ll take care of them.”

You will? said Tink. How?

“What did she say?” said Molly.

“She said not to worry,” said Peter. “Hang on.”

With a grunt and a sudden violent swoop forward, Peter carried the now-heavy forms of Molly and George ten yards farther on, and set them down just ahead of the approaching wolves.

“RUN!” he shouted, turning to face the oncoming pack.

The first wolf reached him a second later, snarling, lunging. Peter shot upward, leaving it snapping at the air, then dropped straight down, his feet landing hard on the wolf’s back. The wolf howled in pain and fury and turned, but Peter had again launched himself upward; the slashing teeth missed his leg by an inch. The other wolves, responding to the plight of their fellow pack member, converged on the spot, leaping and snapping at Peter, who danced in the air just above their heads, shouting to keep their attention.

Meanwhile, unnoticed by the wolves, Molly and George were running up the road toward the Heel Stone, illuminated now by the gentle light of a million stars, as the moon now was a mere ghostly circle.

“What do we do when we get there?” huffed George.

“We look for Father,” said Molly, looking up at the moon. “If we’re not too—”

She stopped and gasped.

“What?” said George. Then his eyes followed her gaze, and he said, “Oh, my.”

Looming in the road fifteen feet ahead, standing eight feet tall if he stood an inch, was Karl the bear. He dropped to all fours and began moving toward them, growling.

“You, there!” said George, in a voice that would have sounded more impressive if it had not broken in the middle of “there” and shot up two full octaves. “Stop, I say! Stop!”

Karl did not stop. He came steadily forward, growling louder now.

A warning chime sounded in Molly’s ear. Molly had heard Tink make that sound before. And, in a flash, she remembered what it meant.

“George!” she said. “Close your eyes!”

“What?” he said, staring at Karl. “Why on earth should …OW!”

He yelped as Molly slapped her hand over his eyes, at the same time closing hers tightly. Karl’s eyes, on the other hand, were very close and very wide open when Tink flashed a brilliant burst.

With a roar, Karl, temporarily blinded and befuddled, reared up and swiped his huge paws through the air, hitting nothing.

Molly opened her eyes and pulled her hand from George’s face.

“Come on!” she said. Then, remembering something, she stopped, turned, and knelt to pick up the fallen form of Tink lying on the road, glowing faintly. Gently, Molly put Tink into her coat pocket and began running up the road toward the Heel Stone, with George close behind. Behind them, Karl continued to bellow and swipe at the empty air.

Aster had seen the bright flash of light in the distance; he had heard the deep roar, unquestionably Karl. He didn’t know what was happening, and he didn’t have time to find out. Whatever it was, Magill and the animals would have to deal with it. The eclipse was total now. The moon was visible only as a shadowy circle in the sky.

Aster knelt next to the trunk. He unfastened the two golden latches. He took a deep breath, then exhaled.

It was time.

A raven glided out from the looming starlit shapes of the trilithons. It fluttered to a landing at the base of the blue-stone, in the pool of darkness that was Ombra. Moments later it took flight again, disappearing into the darkening sky.

Ombra rose and spoke to the two riflemen, his voice low but urgent.

“Aster is behind that stone,” he said, pointing to one of the standing trilithons. “Follow me. Quickly.”

He glided forward, bent low, and came up to the trilithon, the riflemen crouching just behind him. The trilithon’s two massive vertical stones were separated by only a few inches, forming between them a vertical crack several feet deep. Ombra moved forward, oozing into this space, disappearing entirely between the uprights. Through the opening on the other side he saw the gold-clad man—Aster, he was certain—kneeling next to a wooden trunk. Aster’s gold-gloved hands reached out and unfastened the two latches.

He was about to open the trunk.

Ombra shot back out of the space.

“Now,” he whispered urgently, waving the riflemen forward. “Shoot him now.”

The riflemen moved around the stone quickly. Too quickly. One of them caught his foot on the corner of a stone embedded in the ground. He fell forward, his rifle clattering on the hard-packed dirt. Aster’s head turned toward the sound; he saw one rifleman sprawled on the ground, the other raising his weapon, taking aim.

Without an instant’s hesitation, Aster flung the trunk lid open.

The ravens screamed and scattered into the sky.

And out came the sun.

Or so it seemed: the center of Stonehenge erupted in a brilliant ball of light. The gold-clad figure of Aster appeared to be on fire as he stumbled away from the glare. The rifleman on the ground screamed and crawled away, dragging his weapon. The other rifleman, a more disciplined warrior, turned his eyes from the light for a moment, then slowly forced himself to look again, training his rifle sight on Aster.

“No!”

The voice was Ombra’s, but it sounded weak.

“Do not shoot him!”

Ombra was on the ground a dozen yards behind the riflemen. He had been forced back by the light burst, like smoke blown by the wind. His shape was distorted, flattened.

“Do not shoot!” he repeated, slithering away from the light. The rifleman lowered his rifle, turned, and stumbled after the retreating form.

Nerezza ran forward, meeting Ombra at the bluestone circle.

“What happened?” he said. Shielding his eyes, he looked toward the brilliant sphere of light and the figure of Aster now moving toward cover behind a huge fallen stone. “Why didn’t they shoot him?”

“I called them off,” said Ombra. “We cannot kill Aster while the trunk is open. It must be closed. And only Aster can get near enough to close it.” Ombra looked at the sky. Nerezza followed his gaze and saw something he’d never seen before: in the middle of the ghostly reddish circle that was the moon, a pinpoint of greenish light had appeared. As Nerezza watched, the pinpoint became a tendril of light, reaching outward from the moon, farther and farther, like a tentacle feeling its way downward toward Earth.

“We have little time,” said Ombra. “We must force Aster to close the trunk.”

“But if we can’t shoot him,” said Nerezza, “and we can’t get near him…what can we do?”

Ombra’s dark hood swiveled slowly away from the moon, toward Nerezza.

“Get Slank,” Ombra said. “Tell him to bring me Lady Aster.”

Gasping for breath, Molly, with George just behind, reached the Heel Stone. A moment earlier the sky over Stonehenge had erupted with a brilliant flash of light; the center now bathed in a brightness that was difficult to look at directly.

“What is that?” said George. “Is that the Return?”

“I’m sure it’s the starstuff,” said Molly. “But it’s still there, on the ground. The Return hasn’t taken place yet. Father must be inside there. I need to—”

“Would you look at that,” interrupted George, pointing up.

Molly looked up and saw the strange tendril of green light coming out of the moon, stretching toward Earth, its lower end moving back and forth, causing the rest of it to form gentle, undulating curves. To Molly, it looked like a giant snake seeking prey.

George stared in wonder as the light came closer to Earth. “That thing is thousands of miles long,” he said. “Tens of thousands. It must be traveling at a fantastic speed!”

Tearing her eyes away from the light snake, Molly looked back toward the glowing center of Stonehenge.

“I need to get in there,” she said. “To warn Father.”

“Why?” said George. “Obviously the Return is about to start. And once the starstuff’s gone—”

“But it’s not gone yet,” interrupted Molly. “And if Ombra’s anywhere nearby, he’ll see that thing”—she pointed at the green light, drawing ever closer to Stonehenge—“and he’ll try to stop the Return. I need to get in there and warn Father.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” said a deep voice.

Molly and George turned as the tall, wide figure of Magill stepped out from behind the Heel Stone.

“You’re supposed to be back at the house,” he said. “You’ve got no business here.”

“Please,” said Molly. “Listen. I need to warn my father. There’s a—”

“You can’t go in there,” said Magill. “Your father left orders. Nobody goes in there. Too dangerous.”

“Please,” Molly said desperately, starting toward the light. “He doesn’t know that—”

“No,” said Magill, moving to block Molly’s path. “You can’t…OOW!”

George had played a bit of rugby at Harrow, and his tackling technique wasn’t half bad. He’d taken a three-step running start, then launched himself, his goal being to hit Magill from the side, waist high, driving him away from Molly. Unfortunately, Magill was considerably taller than George’s usual targets; George had connected, noggin-first, with Magill’s right knee.

The collision proved extremely painful for both parties. Magill yelped as he skipped sideways on his left foot, both hands holding his knee. George thudded to the ground, moaning, clutching at his throbbing skull.

Molly, her obstacle removed, took off running toward the light.

Leonard Aster crouched behind a fallen trilithon stone, a few feet from the open starstuff trunk. Warily he poked his head out; squinting in the brilliant light, he looked toward the place where, only moments ago, he’d seen two men with rifles. When he’d stumbled blindly away, looking for cover, he had expected at any moment to be shot, or at least hear shots fired. But there had been nothing. And now the men were gone.

Aster concluded that they’d been driven off by the fierce light radiating from the starstuff. The air around him hummed with energy; even with the gold mesh protecting him, he could barely see through the glare.

Cautiously, he stood and looked up, his eyes scanning the sky. There it was. Relief flooded through him as he saw the green tentacle of light writhing toward the glowing center of Stonehenge. It was only a few hundred feet above the top of the trilithons now—close enough that Aster could see it was actually a column of light several feet in diameter. Its end was now aiming directly at the open trunk, and descending.

Only a few seconds now…

The column was coming lower, perhaps one hundred feet now. The hum in the air was louder. Aster’s eyes again swept the area and stopped suddenly. Aster took a step backward, as if he’d been struck.

It couldn’t be.

But it was. Walking toward him from the bluestone circle, arms outstretched, was his wife.

“Louise!” he shouted, waving his arms. “Stay away!”

She kept coming. Her face, starkly illuminated by the brilliant light, was pale and drawn, her eyes wide open, staring unblinking into the glare. She was already perilously close. If she got much closer, Aster knew, she would die.

He looked up: the green light column was directly above the starstuff. The hum was almost deafening. He looked at Louise: she was still coming. To stop her, he would have to leave the trunk—something he was trained never to do. But he could not stand there and watch her die.

Aster began to run toward Louise. After three steps he stopped, frozen by something he heard behind him—a familiar voice, barely audible over the hum. He turned.

No.

Molly was coming toward the light.

“GO BACK, MOLLY!” he shouted. But she didn’t hear him. She wasn’t even looking at him.

She had seen her mother.

Now Molly was running forward, tears streaming down her face, oblivious to the danger. In that instant Aster understood that both his wife and his daughter were about to perish in a cataclysm that he had unleashed. He might—might—be able to save one of them; he could not save both.

In that instant Leonard Aster made a decision that went against a lifetime of Starcatchers training, and centuries of Starcatchers tradition. In that instant, in the hum and the glare, he became a husband and a father.

Leonard Aster closed the trunk lid.

The world went black.

The brilliant light was gone. The hum was gone.

Aster could see nothing. He blinked hard, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.

“Molly!” he shouted.

“Here, Father!” she called, stumbling forward, also sightless. “I saw Mother!”

“Molly, you must not come closer!” he said. “You must get away from here.”

“But—”

“I’ll get your mother,” shouted Aster. His eyes adjusting now, he saw Louise. She was quite close. If he could get to her quickly, move her behind one of the stones, he might have time to run back to the trunk, open it, and complete the Return. He looked up: the green light column was just above the tops of the trilithons, swaying back and forth as if seeking the trunk.

Aster turned toward his wife. His golden suit, illuminated by the green light column now directly overhead, gleamed like a beacon.

“There!” said Ombra.

The riflemen took aim at the shining figure as it ran toward Louise Aster.

“Now!” said Ombra.

The two guns fired almost as one.

The shining figure went down.

Molly heard the shots and screamed as she saw her father crumple to the ground.

“Father!” she shouted, stumbling toward the gold-suited figure, now lying facedown on the hard-packed dirt, unmoving. She reached her father and knelt next to him. Gently, she turned him over, and gasped. The front of his golden suit was bathed in blood. It looked black in the eerie green light as it poured from a wound in his chest.

“Oh, no, no, no,” she said.

She looked up, desperate. Directly in front of her stood her mother.

“Mother,” Molly said. “Help me! Father’s hurt!”

Louise Aster said nothing, looking at her daughter with an expression devoid of any emotion, her wan face painted a pale hideous green by the overhead light.

“Mother,” Molly repeated softly. “Please.”

But she saw no concern, no hint of recognition in the empty eyes looking back at her.

And then, in the strange green light, Molly saw the dark shape of Ombra gliding across the open ground, followed by a half dozen men. They were heading directly for the trunk, which lay on the Altar Stone, twenty-five feet from where Molly knelt by her wounded father. Molly glanced up; the green column of light lingered overhead, snaking back and forth, though it seemed farther away than before. She knew the eclipse would be over soon, ending any chance of effecting the Return.

Despair filled Molly’s soul. Her father was dying; her mother had become somebody, or some thing, that she no longer knew. And now the Others, in the form of the horrid Ombra, were about to gain possession of the starstuff that both her parents had sacrificed so much to safeguard.

Not if I can help it, Molly thought, struggling to her feet.

“Get the girl!” groaned Ombra.

Molly was running now. A few steps and she was almost to the trunk. She reached toward the lid, but suddenly strong hands grabbed her dress, and strong arms yanked her back. A raspy voice spoke close to her ear.

“Hold up there, missy,” said Slank.

Molly struggled and kicked, but she was no match for Slank’s muscles. He gripped her tighter, pinning her to him.

“No use, missy,” he whispered.

Molly looked toward the trunk: Ombra and the other men were now standing next to it, the men eyeing it warily, aware of the power it contained. Molly looked up; the green snake of light was higher still, clearly receding. It was over. She had failed. The Starcatchers had failed. Slowly, Molly lowered her eyes.

Hang on….

Molly caught just a glimpse of a shape swooping low over the tops of the sarsens from the northwest. It was hidden by the tall trilithons now, but Molly knew what it had to be, moving that fast…

“PETER!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Every head, including Ombra’s, swiveled to look. And so everyone had an excellent view as Peter swerved expertly around a massive trilithon support, missing it by a quarter inch at best. Everyone saw it, but nobody had time to react, least of all Peter’s target.

“Hello, Slank!” shouted Peter, delivering a high-velocity kick to Slank’s head as he shot past.

Roaring in pain and rage, Slank staggered backward, involuntarily freeing Molly. He reached for his belt and yanked out a pistol, pointing it skyward, aiming it at the hated boy. Peter turned and began coming back. He was moving fast, but Slank was a good shot. As Peter, who had not yet spotted the pistol, drew close, Slank’s finger tightened on the trigger. He inhaled. With Peter dead in his sights, he fired.

And as he did, a tiny figure struck his gun hand. Tinker Bell had little mass, and she was still a bit groggy, not having fully recovered from her earlier encounter with Karl the bear. But she was able to hit Slank’s hand with just enough speed to mar his aim.

The bullet whistled past Peter’s head.

“Thanks, Tink!” Peter shouted, swerving into the sky. Slank roared a curse and hurled the pistol after Peter’s fleeting form. One of the riflemen fired at Peter, but also missed. Peter darted down and again swooped through the trilithon area. Some of the men ran after him.

“Ignore the boy!” groaned Ombra. “The trunk! Get the trunk!”

As Ombra sought to organize the men, Peter circled and flew past Molly.

“Get your father and mother!” he called. “Get them away from here!”

“Father’s been shot!” shouted Molly.

“Attend to your mother, then,” said a voice behind her.

Molly turned. It was George.

“I’ll get your father,” he said. He went to Aster’s prone body and, with a grunt, managed to heave the unconscious, bleeding man onto his shoulder. Molly ran to her mother, took her arm, and began to pull her away from the center of Stonehenge. George followed, staggering under Leonard Aster’s weight. Molly looked back: Peter was still swooping back and forth over the trilithons.

What is he doing? Molly wondered. As she pulled her mother away, her eyes went back to the trunk.

Ombra, ignoring the flying boy, was directing one of the men to close the latches. The man did so gingerly, not pleased to be touching the trunk. When he was done, Ombra gestured to him and another man.

“Pick it up,” he said. “It cannot harm you now.”

As the men warily reached down to pick up the trunk, Peter swept overhead.

“NOW!” he shouted.

One of the men yelled and pointed. The others’ eyes followed. From behind one of the massive upright trilithon stones emerged the enormous furry mass of Karl.

“Shoot him!” groaned Ombra.

The two riflemen fumbled for their weapons, but Karl, moving with astonishing speed and agility, was upon the men before they had a chance to aim. With a swipe of his enormous paw, he sent the closest of the rifles skidding across the dirt like a twig. Both riflemen turned and ran, one still clutching his weapon but not daring to stop and try to use it. The other men started to follow, but found their path blocked by the forbidding form of Ombra.

“Get the trunk!” growled Ombra. “I will deal with the animal.”

The men, their eyes on the bear, did not move. Ombra glided forward. Karl kept coming. The green column of light was now above Karl and slightly to his right, casting a shadow to the bear’s left. Ombra swerved toward it.

“Look out!” shouted Peter. But his warning meant nothing to the bear, which, preparing to fight the oncoming dark shape, reared up on its hind legs, an act that only lengthened and exposed its shadow.

Ombra flowed swiftly toward it.

A chiming sound filled the air—a sound both Karl and Ombra had heard before. Both knew what it meant; neither had time to do anything about it.

Tink flashed her brightest flash. She was exhausted, and this effort was far weaker than the one she’d managed earlier that evening, the one that had foiled Karl out on the road. This flash, intended to protect him, was half as bright, if that. But it was enough for now.

Ombra, emitting a screech that made Peter’s skin crawl, flattened into an elongated black teardrop shape and was driven back out of the trilithon area. The other men stumbled after him. Karl roared in blind confusion, lunging this way and that.

“Mister Magill!” shouted Peter urgently. “Get him out of here now!”

Magill, who’d been waiting for Peter’s call, sprinted out of the darkness and ran to Karl. The big man growled as he approached; Karl immediately dropped to all fours. Magill took a handful of the huge bear’s neck fur and began leading him away from the trilithons. He looked back at Peter, who had landed next to the trunk.

“Be careful, lad,” he said.

“I will,” said Peter. “Please find Molly. She went that way. Her father needs help.”

“All right,” said Magill. “Good luck.” He turned to go.

“Wait!” said Peter.

Magill looked back.

“Give this to Molly,” said Peter. He removed the locket from his neck. Peter didn’t know whether there was any starstuff left, or—even if there were—whether it would be enough to heal Leonard Aster, assuming he was still alive. He threw the locket to Magill, who caught it one-handed, nodded, and was gone.

Peter knelt by the trunk. He looked up: the green snake was still there, still searching back and forth. But it was clearly higher now; it was receding. Peter glanced at the moon; the ghostly reddish circle was just a shade lighter. The totality was ending.

Peter reached for the first of the two trunk latches.

“Shoot him!”

The groaning command came from behind him, but from a distance. He opened the first latch.

He winced at the crack of a rifle shot; blinked as a bullet twanged off a trilithon stone next to him, rock fragments stinging his face.

“You missed!” came the groaning voice. “Fire again!”

He reached for the second latch.

UNNNH.

Peter did not hear the shot that hit him; only his own grunt as the bullet tore through his left shoulder, hurling him forward onto the trunk. He slid facedown onto the dirt, wondering why he didn’t feel anything.

He struggled to get back up. His left arm didn’t work. He rolled sideways and the world became a red blur as the pain suddenly shot from his shoulder, surging through his body. He struggled to clear his vision, and got to his knees. The trunk was still in front of him, one side smeared with a dark liquid that Peter realized was his blood. He reached his hand for the second latch.

Then he felt the cold.

Half turning, he saw the dark form, saw Ombra’s cape moving onto the shadow cast next to his kneeling body. His hand touched the latch as the cape touched his shadow.

It lasted for only a few seconds, the struggle between the boy and the dark thing for Peter’s soul. Neither combatant had ever been in a fight so intense; each was surprised by the other’s strength and resourcefulness; each learned something from the other. Paradoxically, it was Peter’s grievous wound that saved him: the pain surged from him into Ombra, and the shock was enough to weaken Ombra’s attack for an instant.

In that instant, Peter, who had never lost sight of his goal, opened the second latch and flung open the trunk.

In the next instant, as the world filled with light, Peter felt Ombra’s hostile presence leaving his body. Then he heard Ombra’s scream, which seemed to come from everywhere—as, in fact, it did, Ombra having disintegrated into thousands—millions—of tiny shadows, of specks of dark dust, of near-nothingness, blown far across the landscape in every direction, disappearing into the distance, leaving nothing where he had been but an old burlap sack lying on the ground, open and empty.

The last thing Peter felt was the wonderful warmth flowing into the hole in his shoulder, taking his pain away. The last thing he saw was the green column of light plunging down toward the light pouring from the open trunk, like a giant cobra striking. Peter saw that, and then he saw nothing.

Slank, Nerezza, and the other men saw the blinding flash, heard the horrid scream.

Nerezza and Slank looked at each other.

“What now?” said Nerezza.

“We go back,” said Slank, refusing to accept that the boy had beaten him again. “We still have a rifle. We can—” He stopped, seeing the fear in Nerezza’s eyes, and those of the men, who were backing away.

“What is it?” said Slank. He turned.

Wolves. Huge wolves. Five of them. Moving toward the men, spreading out.

Hunting.

Slank turned back: Nerezza and the other men were running away across the grassland.

With a curse of rage, Slank took off after them.

Molly also saw the brilliant flash and heard the unearthly scream.

Dear God, she thought. Please don’t let that be Peter….

In her arms, Molly cradled the head of Leonard Aster, who, she knew, was dying, or dead. She had removed his helmet; his face was white, his eyes open but sightless. Whether he breathed at all, Molly could not tell.

Nearby stood her mother, or the walking corpse her mother had become. George stood next to Louise Aster.

“Molly,” he said, pointing. “Look.”

The light column was changing color. At the base it had turned from green to a startling blue, which even now was turning gold. The color transformation was moving progressively up the column, into the sky, at astonishing speed; in the next few seconds, it had traveled from Earth to the moon. A second later, in the blink of an eye, the column was gone altogether.

The strange light had been seen by millions of people, in England and beyond; there would be newspaper accounts in which astronomers would explain that the unusual celestial display was actually a rare, but not unheard of, form of aurora borealis, or northern lights. This explanation would be almost universally accepted, except among the residents of the village of Amesbury. But they had learned, as their ancestors had learned over the centuries, to keep their views to themselves.

George was staring at the moon.

“It’s done, then,” he said. “The Return. It’s done.”

“Yes,” said Molly, looking down at the lifeless face of her father. “It’s done.”

As she spoke, something dropped onto the dirt next to her. It gleamed in the light of the moon, now emerging from shadow.

“Peter told me to give you that,” said Magill, who was trailed by the now-docile Karl.

Molly snatched the locket off the ground.

Please let there be some left.

She held the locket over her father’s chest, opened it, tilted it.

Yes!

The golden light poured from the locket, bathing her father’s chest, flowing toward the wound, flowing into it. She looked at his face; nothing. She shook the locket; no more light flowed from it. Had it not been enough?

“Molly—”

Leonard Aster’s voice was weak; to Molly, it had never sounded so wonderful.

“Father!” she said. “Oh, Father—” she was sobbing now, her tears falling on her father’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said, dabbing them with her sleeve. “I’m so sorry—”

“No,” he said, “I’m the one who’s sorry, Molly. You only wanted to help. But the starstuff, is it—”

“Gone,” she said.

He frowned. “The Others? Did they—”

“No,” she whispered. “The Return. It happened, Father.”

Leonard closed his eyes. “Thank God,” he said.

So focused were Molly and her father on their reunion that neither noticed the shadow. It was one of a number of shadows that had emerged, cautiously at first, from the burlap sack that Ombra had left behind. One went trotting off in search of a certain wolf; several others set off across the grassland in the general direction of London. A particular shadow raced along the ground among the Stonehenge stones, darting this way and that, until it found what it was looking for.

Louise Aster blinked. “Where am I?” she said.

“Mother!” said Molly, getting to her feet.

“Molly?” said Louise. “Leonard, is that you?”

“Louise!” said Aster, also standing, with some effort.

The three of them embraced; words, for the moment, being impossible.

Then Molly jerked away. “Oh, no,” she said.

“What?” said Leonard.

“Peter!” she said, pointing toward the trilithons. “He was in there!”

“We must go find him,” said Leonard, his face grim. “He’ll need help, if he’s not…If he hasn’t…Molly, you stay here. Magill, come with me.”

“I don’t think we should go in there,” said Magill gravely.

Molly looked stricken. “Why not?” she said.

Magill’s face broke into a broad smile.

“Because he’s right there,” he said.

They all turned at once. Walking toward them—unsteadily but purposefully—was Peter. In his hands, gently, he held the sleeping form of Tink. His hair was a wild tangle; the front of his shirt was torn and dark with blood.

Molly, tears streaming down her face, ran to him, put her arms around him, hugged him hard.

“Peter,” she said. “I was so worried!” She looked at his bloody shirt. “But you’re hurt! Are you all right?”

Peter looked at her somberly for a moment. Then he smiled a smile so broad that his teeth shone in the moonlight.

“Never felt better in my life,” he said. CHAPTER 95

A SWIFT, SURE SHADOW

THEY SPENT THE REST of the night at Gecierran, having traveled back to the mansion in a moonlit caravan of humans, horses, bear, and wolves.

They ate ravenously, then fell, exhausted, into bed, all of them sleeping late except Leonard Aster, who rose at dawn and rode to Salisbury to make travel arrangements and to send and receive a series of encoded telegrams.

He returned shortly after noon with a coach to collect the others. They traveled to the Salisbury train station, where they boarded a train with a coach reserved just for them. Once the train was moving, Leonard, with his wife by his side, addressed Molly, George, and Peter.

“First,” he said, “I want to thank the three of you for what you did. Without you, there would have been no Return. The starstuff would now be in the hands of the Others. And Louise would be…Well, I’d rather not think about that.” Leonard looked at his wife, who squeezed his hand, her face pale but peaceful.

“So,” said Aster, “I’m deeply grateful to all of you. And, Molly, I owe you an apology. I obviously underestimated your resourcefulness, your abilities, and your courage—as, apparently, did the Others. I don’t expect you to make a habit of disobeying me, young lady. But this time, I’m glad you did.”

Molly and her father exchanged warm smiles. Then Leonard turned his attention to George.

“In a way, George, I’m sorry you got caught up in this business,” he said. “We Starcatchers have worked extremely hard to keep our mission—our very existence—secret. And I’m certain your parents would not be pleased to know that, because of your connection with the Asters, you wound up being chased by wolves and a bear on Salisbury Plain.”

George smiled.

“But Molly tells me she’d never have found the Return without you,” continued Leonard. “And had you not been with her, I’d likely still be lying on the ground by the Altar Stone. You’re a young man of great courage, George. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

Aster extended his hand; George, blushing, shook it.

“I’m in no position to ask favors of you, George,” said Leonard. “But I’m afraid I must do so now. You know what the Starcatchers are; you know what kind of enemy we face, and the stakes for which we are fighting. I must ask you to tell nobody what you’ve learned—nobody, not even your parents. Ever.”

George nodded solemnly. “I won’t, sir,” he said. “I promise.”

“Thank you, George,” said Leonard. “And now for you,” he said, turning to Peter. “It seems I’m making a habit of this, Peter. This is the second time I must thank you for saving my daughter’s life; and to that debt of gratitude I must add thanks for saving my own life, and that of my wife. Not to mention all you have done for the Starcatchers.”

Peter blushed a deep red. Tink, sitting in his hair, said: To hear him talk, I had nothing to do with it.

“What did she say?” asked Molly.

“She said thank you,” said Peter.

“Actually,” said Leonard, his eyes twinkling. “She said, ‘To hear him talk, I had nothing to do with it.’”

“You understand Tink?” said Peter, amazed.

“I do,” said Leonard, “and I want to tell her that the Starcatchers will be forever grateful to her for her courage and her selflessness.”

Tink, for once, was chimeless.

“Peter,” Leonard went on, “I made an offer to you once before, and you refused. But I want to make it again: please stay with us in London. You can live with us, as a member of our family. You can attend any school you wish. Your needs will be provided for. Your—”

Leonard stopped; Peter was shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “But I must get back to Never Land as soon as possible.”

“Never Land?” said Aster.

“The island,” said Peter. “Mollusk Island. We call it Never Land, because…well, because it sort of is. Anyway, I must get back there, sir. There’s pirates, and my mates need me.”

“I understand,” said Leonard. “But we need you too.”

Peter looked at him questioningly.

“This morning,” said Leonard. “I exchanged telegrams with a number of other members of our organization. I told them about our experience with this Ombra at the Return. As you know, Ombra—or something very much like him—was also a problem for us recently in Egypt. This morning I learned that, over the past few months, there have been a half dozen attacks on Starcatchers by these creatures…these shadow thieves.”

“So there’s more than one,” said Molly.

“I’m afraid so,” said Leonard. “Evidently the Others have a new ally—or a new master; we’re not sure which. But the Starcatchers, after centuries of having the upper hand, now find ourselves facing a formidable new opponent—an opponent that would have defeated me at Stonehenge, had you three not been there. Peter, you are a very special young man. You have unique abilities. Twice now you’ve played a critical role in helping us defeat the Others. I’ve no doubt that we’re going to need your help again.”

“And you shall have it, sir,” said Peter. “I’ll come back if you need me, I promise. But for now, I must return to Never Land.”

Aster nodded. “To be honest,” he said, “I expected you to say that.” He looked at Molly; she was looking down. As Leonard watched, a tear landed on the coach floor below her.

“All right, then,” said Leonard. “As soon as we reach London, I’ll arrange for a ship to take you back.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Peter. “But I think it’s best if I fly.”

“Fly?” said Aster. “All the way to the island?”

Peter nodded. “It’s much faster,” he said. “And with Tink to guide me, I’m sure I can find it. She talks to birds.”

“But, Peter,” said Molly, looking up, dabbing her eyes. “You can’t fly all that way. It’s too far. What happens when you need to rest?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” said Peter. “I was wondering if perhaps Ammm could help me along the way. Perhaps he knows a whale or two? A whale makes a fine resting place.”

Leonard nodded, smiling. “I think that could be arranged,” he said. “I believe Ammm knows a number of whales.”

“Who’s Ammm?” said George.

“A porpoise,” said Molly. “He’s a friend of my family.”

“Ah,” said George, no longer easily surprised by Molly’s family.

The rest of the trip to London passed quietly. Molly, Peter, and George—all still a bit weary from the events of the previous days—dozed; Leonard and Louise sat close together, speaking quietly. A coach met them at the Waterloo train station and took them to the Aster mansion. There they had a happy reunion with the household staff, except for the new housemaid, Jenna, who had disappeared several days earlier and had not returned. Leonard Aster immediately sent a messenger off with encoded instructions, which would quickly find their way to the coast and thence to Ammm.

George, after one last round of thank-yous from the Asters, went home. As he left, he and Peter shook hands solemnly. They were no longer enemies; each had come to a grudging respect for the other. But for reasons they could never state aloud—and in fact could only barely acknowledge in their thoughts—they knew they would never truly be friends.

With George gone, Molly and Peter went to the sitting room, where they sat quietly, talking little, awaiting nightfall. It came soon enough. When the sky was fully dark, Peter and the three Asters climbed the stairs to Molly’s room.

Peter went to the window and raised it. Cold air flowed in, but nobody seemed to notice.

“You’re to fly to the Isle of Wight,” said Leonard. “There’s a lighthouse there next to the Needles—some huge jagged rocks sticking out of the sea. Ammm will be waiting for you there.”

“You’re certain you can find your way?” said Louise.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Peter, pointing to Tink, who stood on the windowsill, eager to be off. “Tink will get me there.”

Leonard put his hand out. “Good luck, Peter,” he said.

Peter shook his hand. “Thank you, sir,” he said.

“Be careful, Peter,” said Louise, giving him a hug and a quick peck on his cheek.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, blushing.

Louise stood back. Molly and Peter looked at each other awkwardly.

“Leonard,” said Louise. “Perhaps we should—” She nodded toward the door.

“Yes, of course,” he said. The Asters left the room.

Peter and Molly stood silently for another moment, then Molly said, “Thank you, Peter. For leaving the island. For finding me. For everything. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I, uh, it was, I mean, I wanted to see you, Molly. Not just to help you. But to…see you.” He was blushing furiously now.

“Did you mean what you said to Father?” she said. “About coming back, if we need you again?”

“Yes,” said Peter.

“Then I hope we do, soon. Need you, I mean. Not because I want something bad to happen, but because—” Now it was Molly’s turn to blush.

“Me too,” said Peter.

And then, having virtually lost the ability to speak to each other, they hugged. It was awkward for a moment, as Peter had to rise on tiptoes. But then it was not awkward at all; it was at once the happiest moment either of them could remember, and the saddest.

And then it was over. Gently, Peter pulled himself away and walked to the window.

“Good-bye, Molly,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

“Good-bye, Peter,” she said.

Peter turned and put one foot up on the windowsill. Tinker Bell flitted out the window, hovering, waiting for Peter.

“Tinker Bell!” called Molly. “Take good care of him!”

Don’t worry, Molly, chimed Tink.

“What did she say?” asked Molly.

“She said don’t worry,” said Peter. He gave Molly a little wave, turned, slid his body onto the sill, and slipped out into the night.

Molly ran to the window and looked out; she saw them rising high against the moonlit sky—a bright, darting speck of light followed by a swift, sure shadow.

Molly watched them until they were gone, then watched some more, feeling the cold night air wash over her face, chilling her tears.