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.Intrinsic naughtiness was the fun.Sixteen-year-old Jenny could read them.One was a chart like those on thewall.It was titled The Elder Futhark but Jenny recognized the slanty, angularsymbols.Runes.Like the ones she'd seen on the drinking horns of the young men in theforest.Like the one on the inside cover of the white box.Each had its namewritten beside it in her grandfather's strong black handwriting, with notes.Uruz, she read.For piercing the veil between the worlds.She recognized theinverted V shape, the two uneven horns pointing downward.Raidho-it was shaped like an R drawn without any curved lines-for journeyingin space or time.Dagaz, which looked like an hourglass on its side.For awakening.One of the runes was circled with a thick pen stroke.Nauthiz, Jenny read.Shaped like a backward-leaning X, with one stroke longerthan the other.For containment.The last word was underlined heavily.Page 100ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlJenny took another slow look around the room.Oh, my God.She couldn't keep the truth away any longer.She'd been holding it at arm'slength, refusing to look at it, but now it burst on her with the force ofabsolute certainty.There was no way to deny it.Oh, my God, he was a sorcerer.Her mother's father had been a sorcerer.Don't think about it.don't remember, the voice in her mind whispered.Nobody can make you remember.Stay safe behind your walls, or else.It was going to be very bad from here on, she realized.She had to remember-for Tom.But Tom's image eluded her.So much had happenedsince she'd seen him last night-could it only be last night? She'd changed somuch since then.She tried to conjure up his rakish smile in her mind, hisgreen-flecked eyes, but the picture she got was like a distant, fadedphotograph.Somebody she'd known long ago.God, I can't get any feeling for him.Her palms were tingling.Her stomach felt sick.I still have to remember.For Dee.For Zach.For Audrey and Michael-andSummer.Yes.For Summer.All the others had faced their nightmares.Even Summer had tried.Picturesskittered through Jenny's mind: Dee thrashing like an animal; Audrey huddledand moaning; Michael screaming; Summer's blue-white lips; Zach's glazed grayeyes.They'd all been terrified out of their wits.Was Jenny's nightmare anyworse than theirs?Yes, I think so, the little voice in her mind whispered, but Jenny wasn'tlistening anymore.From Don't remember, don't remember, the chant in her headhad changed to Remember, remember.Maybe this will help, she told herself rather calmly, and with a feeling ofmeeting her doom she picked up a leather-bound book on the desk.It was a journal of sorts.Or at least a record of some kind of experiment.Her grandfather's heavy black writing degenerated into a scrawl in places, butcertain sentences stood out clearly as she leafed through.".out of all the methods from different cultures this one seems safest.the rune Nyd or Nauthiz provides an eternal constraint, preventing travel inany direction.The rune must be carved, then stained with blood, andfinally charged with power by pronouncing its name aloud."Jenny flipped through more pages to a later entry.".interesting treatise on the traditional methods of dealing with a djinn,or, as the Hausa call them, the aljunnu.Why anyone should think this could beaccomplished with a bottle is beyond me.I believe the space I've preparedto be just barely sufficient for containing the tremendous energies involved."Page 101ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlGood grief, he sounded just like a scientist.A mad scientist, Jenny thought.She flipped more pages.".I have achieved the containment at last! I'm very satisfied.foolproof methods.not the slightest danger.the tremendous forcesI've harnessed.all in complete safety."Toward the end there was something stuck in between the pages like abookmark.It was a torn sheet of yellowing, brittle paper.It looked very old.The writing on it was quite different from her grandfather's-thin andshaky-and part of it was obscured by rusty-brown stains.It was a poem.There was no title, but the author's name, Johannes Eckhart,and the date, 1943, were scrawled at the top.I, slipping on the slime-edged stones, To that dark place by rusty foxfirelit, Where they lie watching, fingering old bones, Go with my question.Deepinto the pit Of the Black Forest, where the Erlking rules And truth is toldbut always at a cost, I take my puzzle.Like the other fools who've slipped onthese same stones and played and lostI come because I must.I have no choice.The Game is timeless and.The rest of it was covered with the dark stains, except for the last twolines:I leave them waiting there below.I hear them laughing as I go.Jenny leaned back and let out her breath.Obviously this poem had impressedher grandfather enough for him to keep it for forty years.Sheknew her grandfather had fought in World War II-he'd been a prisoner in aGerman POW camp.Maybe he'd met this Johannes Eckhart then.And maybe thisJohannes Eckhart had started him thinking.She had all the pieces of the puzzle now.She just didn't want to put themtogether.All she could think about was taking the next step in the drama shewas playing out here.The final step, she thought.The ghostly child in the thongs had vanished; the internal movie had stoppedrunning.But Jenny didn't try to get it back.She could feel the irresistibletug of real memory at last, and she knew what she had to do.She stepped back to look at the third bookcase.It was a massive one built of solid mahogany, and it usually stood againstthe same wall as the desk.Today it had been moved.Pulled out at an angle.The dust pattern on the wall behind it showed clearly where it normallyrested.It had been moved to expose a door behind it.Jenny hadn't noticed the door before because the case stuck out enough toblock it.You had to actually walk beyond the bookcase to get a good look.That's what Jenny felt compelled to do now.Page 102ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlIt was a perfectly ordinary-looking door.Probably leading to a closet.Theonly strange thing about it was the huge backward-leaning X deeply carved intothe wood.Carved and colored a rusty brown like the stains on the poem.The internal movie had started up again, eventhough Jenny didn't need or want it.The ghostly little girl was standing insurprise in front of the door, swaying from one foot to the other.Obviouslytemptation was fighting with obedience-and winning [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]