Prologue

In a dank, mossy hollow beneath the shade of ancient oaks sat two stones, man-sized boulders that must have been tumbled in the last ice age to lie unmoved for centuries. One of the stones yawned, showing craggy fangs of knapped flint in shale gums. He uncurled himself and stood, becoming a man, or what looked like a man, stocky and weatherworn. He spat, scratched his armpit, and kicked the other stone.

“What? Oh, is it time already?” the other stone (who was still a stone) said sleepily.

“Not yet,” replied the man, who was now not so much a man as a slimy man-shaped thing. “But the time draws near. Can you feel it?”

The stone shifted against the earth, testing its currents. “Yes…yes! It is coming! They are coming!” The stone quivered now. “Ah! I have never known the like. Can you feel the power in them?”

“Aye,” replied the first, who shed his slime and stood resplendent in jeweled feathers, catching the dappled light beneath the tree canopy. “I have seen the first wren hatch from the first egg. I have drunk the waters and tasted the salt before they joined to become the oceans. I was born in the earth when the earth was born…and never have I felt power like this.” He changed again, the feathers becoming green skin as he shrank and sprouted butterfly wings. He flitted to land on the stone.

“You are no older than I,” the stone said testily. “And I want my sleep. We have some time yet before the battle will join. Why, they are not even in England yet. They wait in a newer place. But they will be here soon. Patience. And stop that infernal shape-shifting, if you please. I am going back to sleep. Wake me when the time is ripe, when the little fruits are ready to be plucked.”

The winged fairy changed one last time, becoming a boy of about fourteen with an insolent, grubby face and turned-up nose. He gave the stone another kick and skipped away, laughing, into the woods.