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the small scrubby trees that could hide it. She paused, unhappy and irresolute, and glanced back at the pillar. Unexpectedly the fierce cold stare of the terrifying second face blazed full at her. Cally looked quickly away. Longing to run, she made herself walk deliberately away through the stunted pines, all the time feeling the stare of the cold stone eyes at her back, until the pillar was out of sight.
    She was out in bright daylight now, under a sky filled with drifting clouds. Nearby, a great boulder twice her height rose from the scrubland. Feeling very small and alone, Cally sat down on the edge of the rock to rest. What would she do when night came if she were still wandering over this empty land? She felt in the pocket of her jeans, but produced nothing but a handkerchief, a stub of pencil and a broken comb. Shoving them despondently back again, she leant one hand on the rock—and jumped up at once as if she had been burned. Though this seemed a warm spring day, the surface of the giant boulder was cold as ice: terrifyingly cold, as if all the warmth of the air had been sucked out of it.
    Staring at the rock, Cally backed slowly away from it, feeling once more a rising sense of unease, and the beginning of panic. As she watched, a ray of sunlight slanted briefly down from a break in the clouds. It rested on the boulder, brightening the smooth grey rock.
    And there came suddenly a cracking, grinding sound, and a rumbling through the earth all around, and Cally saw the boulder move. She thought wildly of earthquakes, but the ground did not shake; instead the giant rock shifted and split and writhed apart, as if it were alive. Watching incredulously, she saw it take shape, two particular shapes, until suddenly there was no boulder at all but two huge figures, standing, turning to her.
    For a moment she stood motionless, staring.
    There were heads, limbs, bodies, but these were figures like nothing she could have imagined. They were neither human nor stone, but both together; they belonged to the earth and the empty land, and they were looking at her without eyes. Then they began to come towards her.
    Cally ran. Choking with terror, she fled through the fern and brush, leaping over rocks, dodging trees; and all the time she heard a great slow tramping behind her, from the crashing stone feet of the two monstrous figures following. She dared not look over her shoulder. She ran and ran, gasping, whimpering, and at last the brush thinned and she was running through long grass, and before her in a clearing stood a low stone house with smoke rising from its chimney. Through the terrible thudding behind her she heard again the strange rhythmic sound, more metallic now, that she had heard from far off, and near the house she saw a man swinging a long hammer up over his shoulder and down.
    For Cally he was the most welcome refuge she had ever seen. She raced towards him and he looked up, letting the hammer fall into a pile of rocks. He was tall and lean, wearing rough denim work-clothes; his face was deep-lined, strong and almost ugly, with a shock of wiry black hair above. Skidding, she cannoned into his legs. Behind her, the great thudding steps slowed and came to a halt. Theman caught her by the shoulders. Cally looked up at him in anguished appeal.
    His face was expressionless. He set her upright and let her go. “Why do you run?” he said. “They will not hurt you.”
    Cally’s heart jumped; she felt cold. There was no refuge here. She had made a terrible mistake—but it was too late to draw back now.
    The man looked out over her head, and raised his voice. “Why do you bring this to me?”
    Behind Cally, a huge rumbling voice spoke, deep, immensely strong, filling the air like the long growl of an avalanche.
    â€œDid not mean to make afraid. Thought you might want.”
    The man said irritably, “For what?”
    â€œFor work. Did not mean. Girl—did not mean to make