From one perfect star, light filtered down to the earth.  Its silver path reached through layers of space, sky, clouds and trees until it came to rest exactly between the shoulder blades of a boy named Henry.

He sat at the edge of a field, looking up into the sky.

Sadly, Henry had never been able to see the star or its light. In fact, he didn't even know he was connected to a star.  But he was.  He was connected to this very special star by a long, silver strand of light.

From inside the strand came a message, even though he didn't hear it:

"Hold on, for you are part of everything."
"Hold on to hope."
"Hold on to light."
"Hold on."

Henry stretched out among the tall, purple-tipped grasses all around him and felt safe; it was his favorite place to be quiet and think. He watched clouds pass through his outstretched hands and understood how very small he was, only a tiny speck on the surface of a huge, revolving world.  Yet with the field all around him and the far-away clouds laced between his fingertips, Henry felt completely connected to that huge world which was so much greater than himself.

Henry knew he was part of all that was good in nature. It was a sleepy, pleasant feeling.  His eyelids grew heavy as the afternoon sun soaked into his bare arms.

Suddenly, something wide and glistening swept past him; his half-closed eyes flew open in surprise.  It wasn't a cobweb; this thing, whatever it was, had felt far too thick and strong for that. In a silver arc he saw it travel upward like a rocket or a plane, on its own power, free.  In its wake a few, bright yellow sparks jettisoned along its surface; then they were gone.  Everything was very silent and still.

Henry sat up.  He wasn't exactly frightened, but he did feel something very important had just happened.  He looked up and tried to catch another glimpse of whatever it was he'd just seen, but only a single white cloud drifted overhead.   

After a while, he lay down again.  Henry wondered if he could have imagined it all.  A flying silver rope wasn't exactly the sort of thing that floated over people's heads every day, he reasoned.  It was probably his eyes playing tricks on him.  Even so, he lay awake for some time thinking about it. But at last, finding himself with no easy explanations, he closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.

*     *     *

A few feet away from the boy, hidden in a cave, four hairless figures crouched beside a fire. 

"It will be dark soon.  Have you finished cooking the bacon?" said the tallest.

He ladled oatmeal into bowls impatiently.  Blue-gray skin and white eyes made it obvious he was not human, but from a distance, he could easily be mistaken for a man.  He was proud of that fact.

"Yes, and I burned it again, Bettelarm," answered a plump, red, pig-shaped creature named Saumagen, "Just the way you like it."

"Raw in the middle, though," observed another. He was a bulky creature, shaped like a huge, hairless cow, “That's not how I like bacon."

Saumagen waved a fork impatiently at him.  "That's the only way to cook it, Rindskopf, you fool."

He mashed each mound of oatmeal in turn, filling the jagged wells with bits of black and pink bacon.  Rindskopf shrugged.  

The fourth creature, Durst, was the oldest.  He shook an ancient-looking finger at Rindskopf's head, and sneered, “His cooking is better than anything you could do, I'd say." 

"Perhaps," answered Rindskopf,   "Though I can squirt water out of my belly like a whale.  I bet none of you can do that."   

He lay on his back and a few drops of gray fluid spouted from his abdomen. 

Durst's tired eyes rolled in disgust.  "How very useful." 

"Someone get me the brown sugar!" commanded Bettelarm impatiently.

Durst gestured in Saumagen's direction.   "He had it last." 

"I didn't!" snapped Saumagen, "Rindskopf did. He used it to coax some bees to sting Mrs. Foster's baby."

"Really?" exclaimed Rindskopf stupidly, “Did that work?"

Saumagen laughed.  "Yes.  It was only last Thursday.  You've forgotten already?"

"Of course," answered Rindskopf, "Bettelarm, I believe we may need more sugar."

Durst groaned again and Bettelarm looked grim.

"How can someone with such a huge head be so stupid?" muttered Bettelarm under his breath, "This is intolerable. We can't have breakfast without sugar!"

"Saumagen has an emergency supply under his bed," said Durst.

"Ah, yes," Saumagen grinned, showing tiny rows of pointed teeth.  "The sugar Durst and I stole from the bakery."

"How clever!" exclaimed Rindskopf.

"The truly clever part was when I replaced it with a sack of sand," Durst bragged, "which a baker then mixed into his dough for gingerbread houses. Ginger SNAP houses, they became."  

"I can't stand the suspense!" exclaimed Rindskopf, chewing the end of his tail.

"They ran to their mothers . . .," continued Durst, casting a foul look at Rindskopf, for the story had no suspense, "And cried . . ."

"Boo hoo!" interrupted Saumagen. He pushed his soft, gummy face into the shape of a little girl, complete with a red bow on the top of his head.

He made his voice very high.  "It doesn't matter how much icing I put on the roof, Mommy.  It won't stay on!" continued Saumagen, "Boo hoo!" After stealing a triumphant glance at Durst, he molded his face into its usual pig-shape again.

Rindskopf howled with laughter. Durst scowled.  His story had been ruined. Again.

"Enough memories!" hissed Bettelarm, who seldom found anything amusing, "Find the sugar!"

"All right, all right." said Durst, "Rindskopf, hurry.  It's under Saumagen's bed."

Rindskopf nodded. A trail of candy wrappers and dirty clothes led to Saumagen's corner, where his pile of possessions reached almost to the roof of the cave. The stench was overpowering.

"I can't find the bed today," called Rindskopf, "What color is his bedspread again?"

Saumagen couldn't remember.  "Look for an old tuna fish sandwich." he advised.

"I see two.  One beside a banana peel, and one surrounded by old socks." answered Rindskopf.

"The one by the socks." replied Saumagen, "The bed is under that one."

Rindskopf threw the sandwich to one side and thrust both fists into the garbage.   At last, he found the edge of a mattress.  Beneath it, crushing a large collection of comic books, was a 25-pound bag of brown sugar.

He returned to the table, where pools of bacon fat had congealed on the porridge.  He heaped sugar into each bowl and sighed in delight.  The sugar was teaming with ants.  They squirmed and drowned in the melting sugar, while the creatures stirred them enthusiastically into the bacon fat and gray oatmeal. 

"Dead, stinky red ants," he said, "What a delicious and unexpected treat!"

All but Bettelarm ate. He leaned against the wall of the cave, listening.

"Hand me the observation shard," he commanded.  While Durst and Saumagen fought over the last of breakfast, Rindskopf handed Bettelarm a pocket-sized fragment of dark reflective glass. Bettelarm turned his back to the opening of the cave and held the glass over his shoulder watching the boy, spy-style. 

"It's almost dusk," he noted, "And he’s fallen asleep in the field."

Durst's tired mouth curled up on one side.  Saumagen snorted his approval.  Rindskopf patted himself joyously on the back and burped.

"Why are we happy?" he suddenly asked.

Saumagen sighed.  "Because . . . you forgetful slab of lard . . . it will soon be dark.  Our time.  We can follow him home again without the slightest fear of detection."

"Ah, yes!" said Rindskopf, "After dark is good."

The creatures all hated light. The smallest glimpse made their eyes sting and their stomachs churn.  A reading lamp riddled their arms or legs with cramps. Sunshine ripped through them like a hundred snakebites, opening painful sores on their delicate hairless skin that took weeks to heal.  Fire was the only light they could tolerate, and all but the dimmest moonlight.   A dark, starless night was ideal; they could wander anywhere they wanted.  

Their cave kept them relatively safe from both light and detection.   Anyone looking in could see only a small space behind the rock, edged with sickening darkness. In fact, the cave went on for miles. 

In all the years they had lived there (which was over one hundred) only two people had ever ventured inside. One visitor was a boy, long ago. First, he had thrown a tiny box into the cave.  Then, even though children were usually afraid of the cave's darkness, this boy had gone after it, trembling, but determined. He searched for the box, but never found it.

After he left, Saumagen seized the box, but found nothing inside but a dead bird. He’d planned to eat it for a snack but it was too small and tough.  Disappointed, Saumagen tossed both the box and the bird into his part of the cave and quickly forgot all about them.

Their other visitor had been a scientist.  He had entered the cave with great confidence, bumping his head immediately on a few stalactites but gathering them up quickly as samples as soon as he regained consciousness.  Finding nothing else of interest, he had turned to leave when a huge burp from Rindskopf, meant to terrify him, completely captured his imagination.   Instead of fleeing in horror, the scientist came back several times after that, convinced the foul-smelling gas had great research potential. 

During this time, the creatures were forced to spend part of the summer with him, while he breathed deeply and said, "Aha!' a lot.  Bettelarm kept his hand over Rindskopf's mouth and refused to let him eat garlic sausage for the entire month of July. The scientist never detected the terrible gas again, and eventually left, broken-hearted.

The creatures had often hoped Henry would come inside the cave.  But Henry never had.  He always preferred to lie in the field.  Now, as Bettelarm watched him there, the last rays of autumn sunset shone gold and purple on the boy's face. 

Overhead, something glimmered.

Bettelarm dropped the observation shard in horror.  He rubbed his eyes and stepped away from the opening to the cave.  Low rays of sunset crept past its rock face on to the dirt floor.

"Ah!' shrieked Rindskopf, spying the light.

"Miserable sunsets," muttered Saumagen, protecting his eyes with a dishtowel, "How I hate them."

"Except tonight, when the sunset works to our advantage," reminded Durst, "The boy always stays to see a sky full of such color.  Move over here, Bettelarm, to the darkest corner.  Rest your eyes."

“The sunset is the least of my worries," whispered Bettelarm, "I have just witnessed the beginnings of certain disaster.  I must contact  . . . the Master."

Bettelarm knelt in the dark. His bloodless lips kissed the cave's floor, leaving a precise pattern in the dirt.  After a few minutes, yellow smoke seeped from each impression.

"This scene looks very strange," observed Rindskopf, "Bettelarm?  Bettelarm?  Don't eat that dirt.  Saumagen can make more bacon.  Same taste, higher fat."

"Can't you see this is no time for jokes?" growled Durst, "He cannot hear you!   He contacts the Master, hears only his Voice."

Bettelarm continued to lie in the dirt, murmuring.

"What's that smoke coming from the ground?" asked Rindskopf.  "It smells worse than Saumagen's bed!"

"It is an acquired smell,'' answered Durst, breathing deeply, “Once you get used to it, it smells quite lovely."

Rindskopf put two fat fingers in each nostril. Saumagen's flexible face fashioned a huge clothespin for his nose.  They both suspected Durst was so old, he had no sense of smell left.  

Durst's face was worried.

 "Saumagen, have you ever seen Bettelarm contact the Master before the sun has set?" he asked.

"Never," snapped Saumagen.

The creatures trembled as Bettelarm writhed in the dirt and yellow smoke.  

"The boy is no longer himself," Bettelarm spoke feverishly, "A moment ago in his face I saw . . .” His voice trailed off.

"Not . . ." whispered Durst in disbelief, "Silver . . ."

Bettelarm nodded.  "Yes.  And The Violet."

"NO!" shouted Saumagen, his body heaving with fury.  All evidence of happy laziness left his face.  He was now large, red and horrible. Red spikes grew out of his rubbery head and lashed out angrily, knocking several saucepans off the wall. 

Rindskopf looked around in horror.  "Silver?  Silver?  What's Silver?  And The Violet?"

"Steady, Saumagen," said Bettelarm, "It was only a glint. The Master can deal with it soon enough."

Rindskopf looked earnestly at the other three creatures.  He rolled over and tried to squirt from his bellybutton again.  No one was in a laughing mood.

"Please, someone!"  he begged, "Tell me about Silver.  Why is everyone so quiet?"

"Silver keeps us thirsty," said Durst.

"Silver wants everything for ITSELF!" shouted Saumagen.

Bettelarm looked into the shard again.  He was silent for a long time.  Finally he spoke.  "Silver takes everything."

"Silver can do all that?" said Rindskopf incredulously, "Then we must trap Silver and kill it!  What are we waiting for?"

"We have been fighting Silver since the beginning of time," answered Bettelarm, "Silver can only be trapped by hurting the boy.”

"Oh, let us hurt him now then," growled Durst, “The sun has set."

"And what of The Violet?" asked Rindskopf.

"Do not speak of The Violet," said Durst, his tiny arms pushing Rindskopf up against the walls of the cave with great strength.  He was calm and dreadful. "Ever."

Bettelarm placed his hand firmly on Saumagen's shoulder.  "Be still, old one.  Do not hurt our clown.  I have contacted the Master.  He will help us in our quest to hurt the boy."

Durst's tiny eyes glittered.   "But you saw Silver.  It may be too late."

"Just a glint. His strand is still weak," answered Bettelarm, "Not much protection.  We will prevent it from growing stronger."
 
The sky was dark now, and Bettelarm crept to the entrance of the cave.   He saw that Henry's face had grown tense and unhappy.  He was having a nightmare. 

As the creatures watched, Henry's sleeping mind took him to a terrible place. There, he walked alone under a black sky.  The ground beneath him started to grow wet and soon fell away in thick, muddy chunks. Henry was swept into a churning brown whirlpool, swirling around its center.   When he tried to escape, the water exploded, sending him first into the air, and then depositing him in a cold, dark sea.  He floated there alone while the waves tossed him toward a single, high rock.  When at last he reached it, the rock cracked into a powder that dried up every drop of water around him.  With the ocean gone, Henry was sent hurtling through dark, scorching winds, toward what was once the ocean’s floor.  After falling for what seemed a very long time, he realized that below him was only a sickening emptiness with no end. 

Then above him he noticed a tiny white speck.  It grew larger, as if it were falling too, but at a much faster speed.  Soon he realized that it was a beautiful white cloud, traveling very quickly, lighting the darkness and reaching out to help him. Finally Henry was close enough to touch the cloud, but a powerful roaring noise came from the pit and shook the air so severely he lost his grasp. The cloud vanished, sending him once again falling into the emptiness.   Henry called for the cloud, reached for it in the darkness, and was suddenly jolted awake.

"Oh!" he cried, sitting up.  He jumped to his feet.  While he had slept, the world had grown dark and the sky and field were now completely black. 

"Excellent!" said Bettelarm, "Look how tired he seems.  He will head home now.  Be ready."

Henry had never known the field to be so dark and as he trudged down the hill, he thought he had never seen a night so black.    He could scarcely see his own feet.  Henry took each step cautiously, letting the tall bushes on either side of the path guide him.

The four creatures followed him easily. Rindskopf was leading the way, swaggering with a clumsy, happy gait.

"Why does that fool always goes first?" complained Saumagen.

"You know, as we all do --- it must be so.  It is the way of things," answered Bettelarm.  

Rindskopf lumbered along, calling into the trees, and after a minute or two, a tick fell into his palm. It only took one puff from Rindskopf's nostrils to send the tiny insect flying into Henry's thick, curly brown hair. 

Saumagen looked impatient.  "A tick?" he bellowed, "That's the best this dairy-headed lump can do?  Bettelarm, minor torments are a waste of time.  Let me at him.  I'll give him a horrible infection that will make his gums turn black!"

"As for me, I would like to trap him, “Durst murmured darkly, "And starve him slowly over time.”

Bettelarm motioned for them to be silent and watch as the tick moved through Henry's hair, looking for a soft, fleshy place to burrow in.  It began to suck on a space behind his left ear.   Rindskopf’s own huge, filthy ears twitched with delight as he skipped alongside.

But Henry felt something on the side of his face and shook his head vigorously.  The tick fell to the ground, waved good-naturedly at Rindskopf and jumped into a nearby tree.

“Ugh!” said Henry, “A tick!  Good thing I felt it.”

The creatures howled in protest.  

"All right, Durst.  Your turn.  Apply the mist," commanded Bettelarm.

Durst pulled out a tube, scraped it along the ground and then spit a long strand of black saliva into it.  He placed a little pump in the top of the tube and pressed down several times.   A light spray of this disgusting mixture drifted through the night air and landed on to Henry's neck.  

Henry did not feel the mist, but immediately felt tired and edgy.  Troublesome thoughts flew into his head that left a strange, gnawing feeling deep within his heart.  He didn't know why, but suddenly things he'd wanted for a long time, but didn't have, began to bother him. His bike was old.  His room was small.  The only family he had in the world was his uncle, who was so wrapped up in his own life he hardly had time for Henry.  In fact, he'd left on a trip just that week, and still hadn't returned.  

Henry thought of people who had things he would never have.  There were a lot of people like that, he decided. Before long, he was angry with almost everyone he knew. In his head, he started to list off the things he didn't like about his life and all the reasons others didn't deserve what he wanted.

His mood grew more and more foul.  It wasn't right that anyone should have what he lacked, he thought. 

Saumagen didn't need Bettelarm to tell him it was his turn.  He licked his fingers and tapped them lightly together. Particles of eerie yellow light flew from their upraised tips and landed on Henry's back.

Henry was now furious, angrier than he'd felt for a long time. He kicked a stone on the path, hard.  Ahead of him, Rindskopf forced up the root of a huge, live oak tree. The second time Henry tried to kick the stone he stubbed his toe on the root and fell against the tree.

"Ow!" he cried. 

The tree shuddered for a moment. Then, it creaked like an enormous, heavy door and slowly began to tip in Henry's direction.

Henry gasped and leapt to his feet.  He started to run as fast as he could, but the tree was falling directly in his path. The thick hedges on either side of it blocked any escape.  The tree was so huge it would surely kill Henry.

Henry froze, too frightened even to close his eyes.  There was nothing he could do.  Then, just at that moment, just as the sound of the falling tree was coming closer, just when everything looked like there was no possible escape, an amazing thing happened.   The wind knocked Henry over and pushed him through a hole in the bushes on to a grassy slope below, just at the end of the path.  It kept blowing, and blowing, guiding him down the hill like a huge water slide.  He glanced behind him, to see lightning strike the tree, splitting it in two and igniting both halves.   They fell on either side of the path, safely away from Henry, and Henry came safely to rest.

Behind him, the lightning had set several trees on fire, and their flames reached high into the sky.  As Henry stood up to run for help, he heard a clap of thunder.  Thick, gray clouds appeared overhead, and torrents of water poured down on the path, quickly extinguishing the powerful flames.  An enormous howling, hissing noise rose up from the charred and smoking remains and a cloud of white steam billowed up into the dark sky.

As Henry watched this extraordinary scene, his eyes grew wide. White against the black sky, the cloud’s outer edges stretched out like arms, and waved.   It was the beautiful cloud from his dream.

It had rescued him. 

And Henry had no idea why.