Read Beneath the Tor for Free Online

and wound together. I leaned against the trunk and dropped into this space. I fell and fell, as if the roots went on forever.
    I landed on my back on a soft surface.
    Above was a cloudless sky, deep blue, the sun at its zenith. Below me was bare soil, cracked and dusty and almost entirely coated with worms. They were everywhere, moving constantly. I eyeballed a single worm. It was pale for a worm, clean, like it had just had a wash from a storm, yet the surface of the earth was dry as toast. One began to climb my leg. Another started its journey. I plucked them off and took several steps backwards, worms squidging under the sole of my foot.
    I picked up my gaze, viewing the horizon. This dry earth and its seethe of worms went on as far as the eye could see. I was at the centre of a massive cropland ready-ploughed but not yet sown with seed. It would be no good sowing seed, I couldn’t help but think, until the rains came.
    I looked down at myself and cried out in horror. The creatures were oozing all over me. A shudder convulsed my shoulders. Earthworms had never bothered me, I loved finding them in my garden soil, but this was worms gone crazy.
    â€œTrendle!”
    My otter barked once, and an opening, as clear and amazing as the parting of the Red Sea, spread before me, worms wriggling away in both directions. I was so shaken by their numbers, I broke into a run, tripping and flailing over the ruts in the ploughed soil.
    In the distance, at the end of the path, I saw a small hut, surrounded by a wattle fence. It was the only thing rising from the plain. As I drew closer, I saw it was built of rough timber with a reed roof, glassless window, and low doorway. It looked off-kilter in this place.
    In front of the hut a man was sitting cross-legged , tending a fire with a stick. He was crooning to himself.
    Under ze world a father does not know his child, Oh-oh !
In this country a father cry for his child, Oh-oh .
In zees country, under ze dying world.
    He sang the words over and over. His accent gargled in his throat. His eyes were filled with sadness, like rock pools under stars, but no tears spilled or fell. He rocked his body, occasionally laying down his poker to hug himself with his arms. When his song came to an end, he lifted his head and trained his gaze on me.
    â€œCan you tell me what the worms signify, please?” I was sure this was the question I should ask.
    He didn’t intend to answer my question promptly. He took time tending his fire, which was contained in a small ring of heat-blackened stones. His skin was black as the stones. His hair was ash-grey with age. His wet eyes were reddened in the fire’s glow and when he finally spoke, I saw that his teeth—where there were teeth at all—were blackened and slanted.
    â€œZees the dying world, oh-oh !”
    â€œA Lower Realm?”
    â€œ Uh-hum . Ze void existing in darkness.”
    â€œCan I enquire, sir, for your name?”
    Again, he didn’t reply. On the fire was a shallow metal bowl, filled with liquid that bubbled and steamed. He gave it a slow stir using the same stick he’d tended the fire with.
    â€œI am lucky,” he said, giving me a sideways glance.
    â€œHow, sir?”
    â€œMy brew, it need one las’ magic. Green leaf. We never see no more round here.”
    I looked, with a start of surprise, at the oak leaf in my hand. I reached out. The man took the leaf. His nails were ridged with the work of ages, the cuticles thick with dirt. He let the leaf float onto the surface of the liquid brew. For a moment, it did not move. Then, all at once, it sank as if the concoction swallowed it up. He dipped his stick into the brew again, chanting as he stirred.
    Under ze world a father seeks his child, Oh-oh !
Mon cherie bring blessings, oh!
Fortune favour ze lucky and ze dead.
    The old man lifted off the bowl without protecting his hands. He placed it carefully on the ground, which hissed and cracked from the