Assume, while you read, that the history is good history. Moore’s suggestion for the secret of the Templars may not be the truth (nothing in this book is true, not in the way you’re thinking, even if it happened) but it fits with the facts (giving us another severed head, along with Northhampton’s Templar church), just as Frances Tresham’s poor head gives us his history along with his life. The stories are boxes that contain mysteries – most of which are unresolved, while all solutions we are given open the door to larger problems and difficulties. Or to put it another way, Voice of the Fire is truth, of a kind, even if its truths are fictional and historical and magical, and so the explanations one gets are always partial and unsatisfactory, the stories, as with the stories of our lives, are unexplained and incomplete.
It is a pleasure to read, and to reread. Start where you like: the beginning and the end are both good places, but a circle begins anywhere, and so does a bonfire.
Do not trust the tales, or the town, or even the man who tells the tales. Trust only the voice of the fire.
Neil Gaiman
Castle de Haar, Paril 26, 2003
Hob’s Hog
4000 BC
A-hind of hill, ways off to sun-set-down, is sky come like as fire, and walk I up in way of this, all hard of breath, where is grass colding on I’s feet and wetting they.
There is not grass on high of hill. There is but dirt, all in a round, that hill is as like to a no-hair man, he’s head. Stands I, and turn I’s face to wind for sniff, and yet is no sniff come for far ways off. I’s belly hurts, in middle of I. Belly-air come up in mouth, and lick of it is like to lick of no thing. Dry-up blood lump is come black on knee, and is with itch. Scratch I, where is yet more blood come.
In bove of I is many sky-beasts, big and grey. Slow is they move, as they is with no strong in they. May that they want for food, as I is want a-like. One of they is that empty in he’s belly now, he’s head it is come off and float a-way, and he is run more quick a-hind, as wants to catch of it. In low of sky is grass and woods go far ways off, where is I see an other hill, which after is there only little trees as grow world’s edge a-bout.
Now looks I down, to grass in low of hill, and sees I pigs. Big pigs, and long, with one on other’s back and shanking she, by look of they. It make a bone go up I’s will to see. In of I’s belly I is glean I may run down of hill to pigs, and hit a stone on one of they and make she not alive, for eat up all of she. That is I’s gleaning. Now is doing of it.
From hill’s-high there off dry dirt come I, through of cold grass and run down quick, that I is come on pigs when they is with no whiles for change to that I may not eat, as like to rat I one-whiles catch that change to little stones. Quick runs I down on pigs, that they is yet pigs while I catch with they. I’s will is up, a bone in he, as shake this way and other in I’s running, neath of belly. Quick runs I, but oh, I’s feet fly up from wet of grass and falls I, oh, and falls I arse-ways down of hill.
Up quick, for catch of pigs. Fall make I slow, that they may come a-change, for I is sniff no pig at all. At this I’s belly is with fright, for which runs I more quick, and looks to pigs as I is come more by of they, but oh. Oh, one, she is a-change, she’s hind legs gone. All out-ways of she black face is turn in, and is now hole with darkness full. Runs I more quick that they is yet a bit of pig while I is catch with they, but oh, there is no move in they, and is they sniff with rot. They come more little pig as more tread is I make.
Now I is by they, and they is but logs of white-wood, lolling one on other. Eyes come wood-holes. Pig-foot come to branch-stub. Ah.
Set I on neath-more log, there flatting grass in low of hill, and make hot waters out I’s face.
I’s will is yet with bone. Rubs wet from eyes and stands I up off log to make of piss gainst she, as she may glean more good for keeping not as pig. Old will, now, bone go out of he, that he lie back down in he’s skins, and I is like to this set back on log, where from I’s piss-mark is grey water-smoke rise up.
Oh, many darks is come and go, and I is seeing not I’s people, that is cast I off. They wants I not, and lone I sets up-on old log, and empty in I’s belly.
Looks now bove of I. Sky, is he full with sky-beasts there, and all of one grey herd is they as runs from edge of world to edge of world. Dark is in little whiles come by, which-for I may see not I’s long black spirit-shape, as follows in I’s tread. All lone is I.
I’s people is with not a want for I, and say as how I forage not yet eat of other’s foragings. In of I’s belly, I is hear I’s mother making say, as while she is alive, how I is idle and not good that she is all whiles make to find of food for I. Says she, we’s people like I not, and
