close. As such, this, her first experiment with woodcraft, was empty; meaningless.
But an idea came to her and she went to the woodshed, picking her way through the cut elm until she found a thick log. It was still in its bark. This, she carefully detached and cut in half, to make a curved sheet that she could fashion into a mask.
Back in her room she worked into the evening, cutting the rectangular wood down to a roughly face-shaped oval. Elm bark is hard and she found, again, that her tiny strength, even with the sharp knife, could only make slow progress in chipping and slicing. But soon she had gouged out two eyes, and scratched a smiling mouth. Exhausted, sitting among the shards, she took out her paint box and painted concentric green rings about each eye, and a red tongue poking from the scratch of lips. The rest of the bark she painted white.
When she placed this on the dresser, and stared at it, she decided to call it the
Hollower
.
When her father entered the room, a few minutes later, he was surprised and shocked at the mess. ‘What on earth …?’ he said, brushing the wood shavings from Tallis’s bed. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘Carving,’ she said simply.
He picked up the knife and checked the edge. He shook his head and looked at his daughter. ‘The last thing I need now is having to sew your fingers back on. This is terribly sharp.’
‘I know. That’s why I used it. But I’m careful. Look!’ She held up two bloodless hands. Her father seemed satisfied. Tallis smiled because, in fact, she had cut the
back
of her right hand quite badly, but had a plaster on the gash.
Her father came over to the two monstrosities on her dressing table. He picked up the mask. ‘It’s ugly. Why did you carve this?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are you going to wear it?’
‘One day, I expect.’
He placed the mask against his face and peered at the girl through the tiny eyeholes. He made low, mysterious grumbling sounds and Tallis laughed. ‘You can hardly see anything,’ he said, lowering the bark face.
‘It’s the Hollower,’ she said.
‘It’s the what?’
‘The Hollower. That’s the mask’s name.’
‘What’s a Hollower?’
‘I don’t know. Something that watches holloways, I suppose. Something that guards the tracks between different worlds.’
‘Gobbledegook,’ said her father, though he sounded kindly. ‘But I’m impressed that you know about holloways. There are several around the farm, you know. We walked along one today …’
‘But they’re just
tracks
,’ she interrupted impatiently.
‘Very
old
tracks, though. One of them runs through Stretley Stones meadow. Stretley, you see? It’s an old word for street. The stones probably mark a crossroads.’ He leaned forward towards her. ‘Men and women dressed in skins and carrying clubs used to walk along them. Why, some of them probably stopped right here, where the house now stands, to eat a haunch or two of uncooked cow.’
Tallis pulled a face. It seemed to her that the notion of eating raw meat was silly. Her father wasn’t a very convincing storyteller.
‘They’re still just old roads,’ she said. ‘But some of them …’ she lowered her voice dramatically. ‘Some ofthem led away deep into the land, and wound around the woods, and suddenly
disappeared
. The old people used to mark those places with tall stones, or great pillars of wood carved into the likeness of a favoured animal, pillars made out of whole trees …’
‘Did they indeed?’ her father said, watching his daughter as she prowled about the room, hands raised, body tensed, as if she was stalking an animal.
‘Yes. Indeed they did. These days we can still see the stones, out in the fields and on the hills, but the old gates have been lost. But hundreds of years ago, when you were still young –’
‘Thanks very much.’
‘
Thousands
of years ago, those places were forbidden to anyone except the Hollowers. Because they led to the
But an idea came to her and she went to the woodshed, picking her way through the cut elm until she found a thick log. It was still in its bark. This, she carefully detached and cut in half, to make a curved sheet that she could fashion into a mask.
Back in her room she worked into the evening, cutting the rectangular wood down to a roughly face-shaped oval. Elm bark is hard and she found, again, that her tiny strength, even with the sharp knife, could only make slow progress in chipping and slicing. But soon she had gouged out two eyes, and scratched a smiling mouth. Exhausted, sitting among the shards, she took out her paint box and painted concentric green rings about each eye, and a red tongue poking from the scratch of lips. The rest of the bark she painted white.
When she placed this on the dresser, and stared at it, she decided to call it the
Hollower
.
When her father entered the room, a few minutes later, he was surprised and shocked at the mess. ‘What on earth …?’ he said, brushing the wood shavings from Tallis’s bed. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘Carving,’ she said simply.
He picked up the knife and checked the edge. He shook his head and looked at his daughter. ‘The last thing I need now is having to sew your fingers back on. This is terribly sharp.’
‘I know. That’s why I used it. But I’m careful. Look!’ She held up two bloodless hands. Her father seemed satisfied. Tallis smiled because, in fact, she had cut the
back
of her right hand quite badly, but had a plaster on the gash.
Her father came over to the two monstrosities on her dressing table. He picked up the mask. ‘It’s ugly. Why did you carve this?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Are you going to wear it?’
‘One day, I expect.’
He placed the mask against his face and peered at the girl through the tiny eyeholes. He made low, mysterious grumbling sounds and Tallis laughed. ‘You can hardly see anything,’ he said, lowering the bark face.
‘It’s the Hollower,’ she said.
‘It’s the what?’
‘The Hollower. That’s the mask’s name.’
‘What’s a Hollower?’
‘I don’t know. Something that watches holloways, I suppose. Something that guards the tracks between different worlds.’
‘Gobbledegook,’ said her father, though he sounded kindly. ‘But I’m impressed that you know about holloways. There are several around the farm, you know. We walked along one today …’
‘But they’re just
tracks
,’ she interrupted impatiently.
‘Very
old
tracks, though. One of them runs through Stretley Stones meadow. Stretley, you see? It’s an old word for street. The stones probably mark a crossroads.’ He leaned forward towards her. ‘Men and women dressed in skins and carrying clubs used to walk along them. Why, some of them probably stopped right here, where the house now stands, to eat a haunch or two of uncooked cow.’
Tallis pulled a face. It seemed to her that the notion of eating raw meat was silly. Her father wasn’t a very convincing storyteller.
‘They’re still just old roads,’ she said. ‘But some of them …’ she lowered her voice dramatically. ‘Some ofthem led away deep into the land, and wound around the woods, and suddenly
disappeared
. The old people used to mark those places with tall stones, or great pillars of wood carved into the likeness of a favoured animal, pillars made out of whole trees …’
‘Did they indeed?’ her father said, watching his daughter as she prowled about the room, hands raised, body tensed, as if she was stalking an animal.
‘Yes. Indeed they did. These days we can still see the stones, out in the fields and on the hills, but the old gates have been lost. But hundreds of years ago, when you were still young –’
‘Thanks very much.’
‘
Thousands
of years ago, those places were forbidden to anyone except the Hollowers. Because they led to the
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