by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

illustrated by John Murphy

Prologue

The pale man slipped soundlessly through the shadows of night. His hair was a little too long and rather shaggy, his clothes ill-fitting and unremarkable, except for the many pockets of various sizes that covered the jacket and trousers. Wherever he walked the streetlights dimmed and the man grew a little stronger. He gazed hungrily into well-lit windows of houses and his skin began to itch. It was only mid-March, but spring was coming. The daylight lasted longer; the air carried the first faint scents of new life. Soon, very soon, the change would come and it made his legs tremble and his heart surge.

He stood hidden in shadow outside the windows of a small house on Willow Street, watching the silhouettes move back and forth behind the curtains. The windows blazed, but the light he needed remained trapped behind panes of glass. He felt his scalp tingle and he stretched his arm back to scratch between his shoulder blades.

A cat rustled through the laurel bushes, pausing to stare warily. It inched closer to the man, rubbing its ginger coat against his ankles. As the man bent to scratch its ears, he thought of brightly lit stores, of all-night restaurants, places where the light never dimmed; but he couldn’t risk giving himself away, not yet. He had known this compulsion before, but this spring it was different; he could feel it, could hear it in the voices of the trees.

He ambled, more slowly now, towards the outskirts of town, past the road to the forest’s edge where the houses became more scattered, hidden behind hedges and large trees. He was tired, and like all humans, needful of sleep. He thought of one particular place in the forest where the pine needles were piled deep, a place he’d slept before.

He was ready to surrender to exhaustion when he saw the house. It was half hidden by a large clump of birch trees, white and shining in the moonlight. A wide porch wrapped around two sides and the green front door was left ajar. Lamplight spilled out from the house into the darkness, beckoning to him. Of course there was risk. He didn’t know who might be in the house, but his need drove him forward.

His pace quickened. Perhaps he could hasten the process along.

* ? ? ? ? * ? ? ? ? *

The rough bark of the Sycamore dug into the girl’s back. She was not used to sitting in trees and she had been in this particular tree for what most people would consider a very long time. Above her the stars burned in the night sky and the distant moon looked as if it were tangled in the upmost branches of the tree. Occasionally she swung her legs or ran a comb through her long pale hair. It was her job to wait and watch, and as she waited she sang. The song had no melody, but it spun out into the night like a silvery ribbon. As she watched, the front door opened tentatively, a slender slice of light. And surprisingly the door stayed open.

The girl continued to sing. Finally there was movement in the darkness and her back relaxed against the tree. A man came shambling across the wide lawn, moving purposefully towards the open door. The light called him, or perhaps it was her song.

*? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? *? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? *

The song carried itself on the wind through the night and spread out in the four directions of the compass. In the north it disturbed the sleep of a pack of white hounds who stirred restlessly, whimpered and barked. Their horned master looked at the sky and wondered why they should travel so soon. Nevertheless, he prepared his horse and took out his well-polished hunting horn. The hounds would be glad of some exercise, and he wouldn’t mind some himself.

*? ? ? ? ? ? ? *? ? ? ? ? ? ? *

In the east the song reached into the sleep of the one-eyed man and gave him terrible dreams. An orange-striped cat, held in a small trap by his bedside, hissed, longing for freedom. Only hours before it had been hunting for a meal when the one-eyed man appeared, calling to it softly, off ering fresh meat. And then the man had stuffed it in a bag and carried it to this cage without food or water.

The one-eyed man snorted loudly and called out in his sleep…but because he lived alone nobody came.

In the next room, other animals growled or mewled piteously, while those without voices merely shifted, seeking comfort in cages that gleamed like jewels.

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