Weaveworld

IV

PAST HOPE

1

hey came at the summons, all of them; came in ones and twos sometimes, sometimes in families or groups of friends; they came with few suitcases (what did they have in the Kingdom worth weighing themselves down with?), the only possessions they cared about those they’d brought out of the Fugue, and carried upon their persons. Souvenirs of their lost world: stones, seeds, the keys of their houses.

And of course they brought their raptures, what few they had. Brought them to the place Nimrod had told Suzanna about, but had failed to name. Apolline had remembered it, however. It was a place, in the time before the Weave, that the Scourge had never found.

It was called Rayment’s Hill.

Suzanna feared that the Cuckoos would have wrought some profound change on the area; dug it up or levelled it. But no. The Hill was untouched, and the copse below it, where the Families had spent that distant summer, had flourished, and become a wood.

She’d also questioned the wisdom of their taking refuge out of doors in such appalling weather – the pundits were already pronouncing (his the bitterest December in living memory – but she was assured that beleaguered as they were the Kind had solutions to such simple problems.

They had been safe below Rayment’s Hill once; perhaps they would be safe there again.

The sense of relief amongst them at being reunited was palpable. Though most had survived well enough in the Kingdom, circumstances had obviously required that they keep their grief hidden. Now, back amongst their own people, they could reminisce about the old country, and that was no small comfort. Nor were they entirely defenceless here. Though their powers were vastly reduced without the Fugue to fuel them, they still had one or two deceiving raptures to call into play. It was doubtful they’d keep the power that had destroyed Chariot Street at bay for long, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

And when they were finally gathered in the groves between the trees – their collective presence working a subtle transformation upon bush and branch – she felt the indisputable rightness of this decision. If the Scourge eventually found them, they’d at least be together at the end.

There were only two notable absentees. Cal was one, of course. The other was the book she’d given into his hands; a book whose living pages had contained echoes of this midwinter wood. She prayed they were both safe somewhere – the book and its keeper. Safe; and dreaming.