Read Online The Bone Forest by Robert Holdstock - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Holdstock
Tags: Fantasy
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journal entry it had written "Protect Jennifer against me. Protect her against the ghost…"
"Go away," Huxley breathed. "I won't let you come near her. You told me not to…"
It raced up to him in the darkness and hovered there, its eyes dimly reflecting, showing how wide they were, how intense. It was hard to define shape; he sensed shadows shifting, a depthlessness to the figure, but yet it was solid. The heat and the smell that came off it were overpowering.
In a voice that sounded like the restless stirring of a breeze, it whispered "journal."
It had written in the journal!
It towered over him, and Jennifer suddenly stirred. "George… ?"
She tossed her head slightly, and her arm extended toward him, but before the hand could touch him it was intercepted. The creature had her, and Huxley felt willed to leave the bed.
"Journal," breathed the gray-green man, and there was the hint of a laugh, of a smile as the word was said for the second time.
"George?" Jennifer murmured, coming more awake.
His heart pounding, the sense of the gray-green man's mocking laughter teasing at his conscience, Huxley swung out of bed and left the room.
Halfway down the stairs he heard Jennifer's cry of surprise as she woke fully. Then her sudden, splendid laugh.
He blocked his ears against the sounds that came next, and went into his study, tears streaming down his face as he fumbled behind the books for his private journal.
THIRTEEN
Will try to speak. But you move slowly, ghostly. Perhaps I am the same to you. I observe the house and Jenny, the boys, and they are real, although they seem to be a dream. But you are slow, the me part, the me factor, too ghostly, and it is hard to speak.
Steven is in the wood, Chris too. Something huge in the wood, some event, some rebirth or regeneration. I sense it. I hear it from mouths, from tales. I have been here so long, and the world of the mythago is my world.
This is puzzling. Why have you not been in the wood, in the same way, in the same wood? Confused. My mind does not focus. But I have had encounters. You have not had the same encounters.
I can't answer about Steven. As a man, he will come here. Or as a boy and grow to a man. Somehow. It has to do with the Urscumaga. Pursuit. Quest. I cannot say more. I know NO more! Be gentle with Steven. Be careful of him. Be watchful. Love him. LOVE HIM!
Wynne-Jones was in the horse temple. You saw him. You MUST have seen. I think he was killed. He was trapped.
You should know this. Why not? Why do you not?
Perhaps you have forgotten. Perhaps some memory is stripped from you and exists in me. Memory in you is denied me. No. Not true. Your account of Ash is my account. Almost. You describe the amulet as dull. The amulet was bright. You say a green stone. Yes. You say a leather thong. No. Horse hair. Twined horse hair. Can you have made such a mistake?
I see now that you make no mention of Ash previously. Not my journal then, though so many entries are the same. Yes. Snow Woman, Steven's word, was the same as Ash. I remember her visit, that winter. But Wynne-Jones made contact in February. No mention in the journal of that. But I wrote an account. He understood the basic nature of Ash. But no mention in either journal. Yet it was written.
Are
we the same
?
Ash: She carries the memory of wood. She is the guardian of ancient forest and can summon
from
them and send
to
them. She uses the techniques of the
shaman
to do this. By casting her charms of wood and bone she can create—and destroy, too, if she wishes
—
forests of lime and spruce, or oak and ash, or alder and beech. She can send hunters to find pigs, or stags, or bears, or horses
. Other things!
Forgotten creatures
.
Forgotten woods. Her skills are legion. She can send the curious to find curiosities. She can even send a
stealer of talismans
to find… well, what can I say to you? To find a little
humility,
perhaps. I am certain that she was telling me to leave alone things I did not
"Go away," Huxley breathed. "I won't let you come near her. You told me not to…"
It raced up to him in the darkness and hovered there, its eyes dimly reflecting, showing how wide they were, how intense. It was hard to define shape; he sensed shadows shifting, a depthlessness to the figure, but yet it was solid. The heat and the smell that came off it were overpowering.
In a voice that sounded like the restless stirring of a breeze, it whispered "journal."
It had written in the journal!
It towered over him, and Jennifer suddenly stirred. "George… ?"
She tossed her head slightly, and her arm extended toward him, but before the hand could touch him it was intercepted. The creature had her, and Huxley felt willed to leave the bed.
"Journal," breathed the gray-green man, and there was the hint of a laugh, of a smile as the word was said for the second time.
"George?" Jennifer murmured, coming more awake.
His heart pounding, the sense of the gray-green man's mocking laughter teasing at his conscience, Huxley swung out of bed and left the room.
Halfway down the stairs he heard Jennifer's cry of surprise as she woke fully. Then her sudden, splendid laugh.
He blocked his ears against the sounds that came next, and went into his study, tears streaming down his face as he fumbled behind the books for his private journal.
THIRTEEN
Will try to speak. But you move slowly, ghostly. Perhaps I am the same to you. I observe the house and Jenny, the boys, and they are real, although they seem to be a dream. But you are slow, the me part, the me factor, too ghostly, and it is hard to speak.
Steven is in the wood, Chris too. Something huge in the wood, some event, some rebirth or regeneration. I sense it. I hear it from mouths, from tales. I have been here so long, and the world of the mythago is my world.
This is puzzling. Why have you not been in the wood, in the same way, in the same wood? Confused. My mind does not focus. But I have had encounters. You have not had the same encounters.
I can't answer about Steven. As a man, he will come here. Or as a boy and grow to a man. Somehow. It has to do with the Urscumaga. Pursuit. Quest. I cannot say more. I know NO more! Be gentle with Steven. Be careful of him. Be watchful. Love him. LOVE HIM!
Wynne-Jones was in the horse temple. You saw him. You MUST have seen. I think he was killed. He was trapped.
You should know this. Why not? Why do you not?
Perhaps you have forgotten. Perhaps some memory is stripped from you and exists in me. Memory in you is denied me. No. Not true. Your account of Ash is my account. Almost. You describe the amulet as dull. The amulet was bright. You say a green stone. Yes. You say a leather thong. No. Horse hair. Twined horse hair. Can you have made such a mistake?
I see now that you make no mention of Ash previously. Not my journal then, though so many entries are the same. Yes. Snow Woman, Steven's word, was the same as Ash. I remember her visit, that winter. But Wynne-Jones made contact in February. No mention in the journal of that. But I wrote an account. He understood the basic nature of Ash. But no mention in either journal. Yet it was written.
Are
we the same
?
Ash: She carries the memory of wood. She is the guardian of ancient forest and can summon
from
them and send
to
them. She uses the techniques of the
shaman
to do this. By casting her charms of wood and bone she can create—and destroy, too, if she wishes
—
forests of lime and spruce, or oak and ash, or alder and beech. She can send hunters to find pigs, or stags, or bears, or horses
. Other things!
Forgotten creatures
.
Forgotten woods. Her skills are legion. She can send the curious to find curiosities. She can even send a
stealer of talismans
to find… well, what can I say to you? To find a little
humility,
perhaps. I am certain that she was telling me to leave alone things I did not
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