Dance of the Stones Read Online Free

against the main trunk. She stretched her arms as wide as she could. They circled only a fraction of the tree’s width. “You’re amazing,” she whispered, her cheek against the bark. “You must be the oldest tree here.”
    â€œI am,” the tree whispered back.
    Startled, Holly drew back, then grinned and looked around. “Good one,” she chuckled. “Show yourself, Owen, wherever you are!”
    No answer. Her smile faded.
    â€œCome on,” she called sharply. “Stop trying to scare me. It’s not funny.”
    Still no one answered.
    Puzzled, Holly checked below the oak but saw no one. She climbed farther up the trunk, slithered out on the branch that leaned over the road, and peeped through the leaves. Nobody was hiding below the bank.
    Then she heard Owen and Adam calling each other, way back in the forest.
    Holly edged back to the massive trunk and leaned against it.
    She shook her head to clear it. “Trees can’t speak,” she muttered.
    â€œThey speak.” The whisper hung in the air. “But humans never hear.”
    â€œThen why can I hear you?” replied Holly, hesitantly.
    She looked around to try and identify where the voice was coming from.
    â€œYou have walked in the Place Beyond Morning.” The whisper surrounded her.
    Holly gasped. “How do you know?”
    â€œStardust shines in your hair.”
    Holly grabbed a handful of dark curls. She pulled them in front of her face and squinted. They looked perfectly normal. She let go. “Who are you?”
    â€œThe oldest oak. The Mother Tree. And you?”
    â€œHolly.”
    The tree gave a deep chuckle, and Holly felt the branch tremble.
    â€œNo wonder you hear Treespeak. You are named for one of the Great Trees. Oak, Ash, Yew, Beech, Hawthorn, Holly and Ivy, magic trees all.”
    â€œI thought I was named for Christmas. My birthday’s in December.” Holly stroked the trunk as she spoke.
    â€œHolly is older than Christmas. In the beginning was the Old Magic. Holly boughs strewn at entrances celebrate the Greenwood and keep Dark Magic at bay.”
    â€œGoodness!” said Holly in awe.
    â€œHolly, HOLLY. Time to go.” Her father’s voice echoed through the forest.
    â€œMy dad’s calling.”
    â€œOne moment, child. Dark things stir. My forest labors under siege. Will you help me?”
    â€œIf I can,” said Holly, not sure how she could help a tree miles away from anywhere.
    â€œThank you. In return for your kindness I offer gifts. Hold out your hand, child.”
    Holly obeyed. An acorn dropped into her palm.
    â€œKeep safe this acorn, young Holly Berry. It holds the power of the Greenwood. So does my mistletoe. In times of need you may take some.”
    â€œThank you,” said Holly politely.
    â€œI also offer words of power, for protection against wickedness.”
    â€œOkay,” said Holly, mystified. She tucked the acorn in the bottom of her pocket, beneath the tape.
    â€œBend your ear to my trunk, for words of power must never be uttered lest needed.”
    Holly leaned into the trunk.
    The whisper came from deep within the tree. She had to strain to hear, and what she heard made no sense.
    â€œLhiat myr hoilloo.”
    â€œPardon?” said Holly.
    â€œLhiat myr hoilloo.”
    â€œLee-at mur hoylew,” repeated Holly under her breath. “What does it mean?”
    â€œâ€™Tis Oldspeak for ‘to thee as thou deservest.’ Treasure the words deep in your heart.”
    â€œHOLLY!”
    â€œComing,” Holly shouted. She patted the tree trunk. “I have to go . . . but I will look after your acorn and . . . and remember the words. Thank you for your gifts.”
    â€œMay your leaves be ever green,” the oak rustled.
    Bemused, Holly swung down to the ground and picked her way across the maze of roots. Her mind racing, she retraced her trail through the