The Dark Is Rising (The Dark Is Rising, #2)

by Susan Cooper

The Walker is abroad,” he said again. “And this night will be bad, and tomorrow will be beyond imagining.”

You are the Sign-Seeker, Will Stanton.

“For the Dark, the Dark is rising. The Walker is abroad, the Rider is riding; they have woken, the Dark is rising. And the last of the Circle is come to claim his own, and the circles must now all be joined. The white horse must go to the Hunter, and the river take the valley; there must be fire on the mountain, fire under the stone, fire over the sea. Fire to burn away the Dark, for the Dark, the Dark is rising!”

When the Dark comes rising, six shall turn it back, Three from the circle, three from the track; Wood, bronze, iron; water, fire, stone; Five will return, and one go alone.

This was the Dark, rising, rising to swallow Will Stanton before he could grow strong enough to do it harm.

voice, “Go back, and tell them that the Signs are beyond their touching. And if you would remain unharmed, do not try again to work your will while you stand on one of our Ways. For the old roads are wakened, and their power is alive again. And this time, they will have no pity and no remorse.”

“Anno Domini eighteen seventy-five,” Merriman said. “Not a bad year. In London, Mr. Disraeli is doing his best to buy the Suez Canal. More than half the British merchant ships that will pass through it are sailing ships. Queen Victoria has been on the British throne for thirty-eight years. In America, the President has the splendid name of Ulysses S. Grant, and Nebraska is the newest of the thirty-four states of the Union. And in a remote manor house in Buckinghamshire, distinguished or notorious in the public eye only for its possession of the world’s most valuable small collection of books on necromancy, a lady named Mary Greythorne is holding a Christmas Eve party, with carols and music, for her friends.”

… the wrinkled sea beneath him crawls…

…I am fire-fretted and I flirt with wind…

He that sees blowing the wild wood tree, And peewits circling their watery glass, Dreams about Strangers that yet may be Dark to our eyes, Alas!

I have plundered the fern Through all secrets I spie; Old Math ap Mathonwy Knew no more than I.

Facing the cover, on the very last page, was a drawing of the six circled-cross Signs, all joined into one circle. And that was all.

“A happy birthday to you, Will Stanton, seventh son of a seventh son,” said Miss Greythorne. “And success in your every quest.”

“There’s not really any before and after, is there?” he said. “Everything that matters is outside Time. And comes from there and can go there.”

“When the Dark comes rising, six shall turn it back; Three from the circle, three from the track. Wood, bronze, iron; water, fire, stone; Five will return, and one go alone.”

“Iron for the birthday, bronze carried long; Wood from the burning, stone out of song; Fire in the candle-ring, water from the thaw; Six signs the circle, and the grail gone before.”

“Fire on the mountain shall find the harp of gold Played to wake the Sleepers, oldest of the old; Power from the green witch, lost beneath the sea; All shall find the light at last, silver on the tree.”