Boneland

At each clear dark he went above Ludcruck to the Bearstone and watched as the Stone Spirit, riding on the Bull’s back, the Bull that he had made new with the blade and with his hand, climbed the wall of the night cave. He watched the ring of stars that sat upon the Spirit’s brow, and watched until the Bull dropped below the hills.

And at the next dark he watched; and the next. If the Stone Spirit should see there was no one to care that the sun was weak it would not give the fire of its brow and the stars would end. Then where would be beasts to hunt? Where the hunters? Where the Hunter in the sky?

Once, when the world was full, the Hunter walked the sky. Above him was the Bull, and through the nights of winter it went before him with lowered horns. But when the world grew empty the Hunter left to follow the herds; yet the Bull stayed. And every night he rose above the hills. He hooked his red eye over, watching to see that there was life, and the Stone Spirit looked to send out eagles from its head to feed the stars. Then, when they had seen that the world was well and the stars were fed, the Bull and the Stone Spirit rested until night came again.

And each dancer in Ludcruck made new the Bull and the beasts on the wall of the cave sky for the time when all would be again, with the Hunter striding. But if the dancer did not dance and sing and make new the Bull on the sky wall, the Stone Spirit would not send eagles.

Yet there was a greater than the Bull, a greater than the Stone Spirit; for they kept the world and the stars through winter, but Crane kept through all Time.

Crane flew never resting along the River above the sky. It flew the highmost heavens and drove down upon the night. At deepest winter, when the sun could die, it thrust its beak to the dark above the Tor of Ghosts that lay under the star that did not turn. Then, when it seemed that it must strike the Tor, at the midpoint of the night, Crane skimmed the crest and rose to dive again in everlasting life. So the Bull cared for the world, the Stone Spirit for the stars, Crane for world, stars and the round of Time.

With the woman and the child gone into Ludcruck, he made a snow hole at the Bearstone and sat as the Bull lifted, to show that he kept watch and worked that the world would not be lost. And, as he sat, hope came.

Above the Bull’s back the Stone Spirit put up its hand and plucked eagles from the ring about its brow and sent them out. They flew as sparks across the night, gliding on their feathered fire about the cave, and the stars were fed. Every night he watched, until every eagle had flown and the sky was new though the sun sank.

Each year the sun went to die; and each year the Stone Spirit and the eagles fetched it back, though it had its trick to play.

With every setting, the sun drew nearer to death, the point of Moel, the Hill of Night, the hill from which there was no return. And at last it sank, big, into Moel and was gone. Then, if the Stone Spirit had not fed the stars, the sun had died. But now it crept behind the ridge of Moel until it came to the Nick in the hill, and blinked.

For three nights the sun played with the world, dying into Moel, and blinking at the Nick. Then it stopped its play, and climbed from Moel and death, so that night shrank and day stretched once more.

Colin locked his bicycle at the Health Centre and twirled the combination. He rubbed disinfectant gel into his hands from the dispenser before tapping his details on the screen. He saw that he was expected and was invited to the waiting area.

He sat and watched the red LED dots cycle their information: welcome, statistics, chiding of appointments missed, a clinic for infant eczema, monitoring of blood pressure, electronic beeps of the summoning of patients to their doctors, please ask a member of staff if you need help.

A woman was reading a book to a child on her knee.

‘“So the little boy went into the wood, and he met a witch.” Don’t pick your nose. “And the witch said, ‘You come home with me and I’ll give you a good dinner.’” Now you wouldn’t go home with a witch, would you?’

‘I wouldn’t, Nan.’

‘But this little boy does. “The witch’s house stood on hens’ legs.” Isn’t that daft?’

He nodded.

‘“And the witch said, ‘Come in, and I’ll give you some dinner.”’ Would you go in?’

He shook his head.

‘Well, the little boy, see, he’s going in. “The witch said, ‘Come upstairs.’” Would you go upstairs with a witch?’

‘Don’t go,’ said Colin.

The woman looked at him.

‘“So the boy went upstairs.” If you went upstairs in a witch’s house, what would you do?’

‘I’d wee.’

Colin stood. ‘Young man. Do not go into the witch’s house. Do not. And whatever you do, do not go upstairs. You must not go upstairs. Do not go! You are not to go!’

The woman put her arm around the child.

‘You must not go upstairs!’

A receptionist came from her desk.

‘Professor Whisterfield.’

‘You must not go!’

‘Professor Whisterfield.’

‘He must not go upstairs! I have been upstairs! They are not hens’ legs! They are not the legs of hens!’

‘Professor Whisterfield. Please.’

‘He must not.’

Beep. The LEDs flashed. Colin Whisterfield. Room 5.

‘You mustn’t. They are not Gallus gallus domesticus,’ said Colin as he left the waiting area.

‘That man’s funny,’ said the boy. ‘He makes me laugh.’

Colin knocked on the open door.

‘Hi,’ said the doctor. ‘How was the hospital?’

‘Farce.’

‘Do you want to continue?’

‘If you like. Don’t let that boy go in.’

‘Boy?’ said the doctor.

‘The one outside.’

‘Go in where?’

‘The witch’s house.’

The doctor linked his hands behind his neck, pushed his chair backwards, and spun until it came to rest.

Colin leaned forward and turned the computer screen. ‘So what have we here? Well, these cocktails didn’t work, did they? That. And that. And that. Oh, I remember that. How I remember that. And that. And that. And as for that! I didn’t care. Chemically poleaxed. I’d rather be mad. Give me a healthy psychosis any day.’

‘All I can do is offer advice,’ said the doctor. ‘It’s up to you whether you take it. We’ve exhausted the pharmacopoeia. ECT isn’t ideal, but that’s where we’re at.’